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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473983">take the road (less traveled by)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltziepark/pseuds/saltziepark'>saltziepark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and that's the thing about illicit affairs [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Legacies (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Both is good, Emotional Slowburn, F/F, F/M, Henelope endgame, alls well that ends well to end up with you, and a lot more taylor swift, and maybe babe, and that's the thing about illicit affairs, any fic that i can make jazzie a thing makes my heart sing, ask questions later, bang first, did i listen to illicit affairs on repeat while writing this?, did you catch the lyrical reference in chapter three?, don't we?, how many times can i use taylor swift lyrics in my fics?, is it safe for me to remove landon from the relationship tags yet?, its like an easter egg hunt, landon is useless and always will be, penelope cabin in the woods park, penelope lakehouse park, penelope parking lot park, penelope phone sex park, she likes french toast but are we surprised by that at all?, she’s a big fan of tacky souvenirs, spot the illicit affairs reference in this chapter and in all of the others, tolerate it and tis the damn season inspired chapter eight, well not we gotta write a henelope and jazzie epilogue, why not both?, yes there will be cheating but they're in love so i don't wanna hear it, you better fucking believe it, you can call me babe for the weekend</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:21:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltziepark/pseuds/saltziepark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Because having Penelope’s attention, her eyes focused on you and only you, is something terribly intoxicating. It’s a rush, addicting, because Penelope knew, had always known, how to make you feel as if you are the only person in the room. As if you’re special, seen and heard and valued, just with a glance. It had unnerved Hope when they were younger and still does, knowing Penelope’s focused on her. Just like she is now, watching Hope silently, her eyes dark and tempting.   </p><p>Hope wonders fleetingly about her destiny, if Landon is her soulmate, her twin flame, if she burned only for him, if —</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hope Mikaelson &amp; Penelope Park, Hope Mikaelson/Penelope Park, Jade/Lizzie Saltzman, Landon Kirby &amp; Hope Mikaelson, Landon Kirby/Hope Mikaelson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and that's the thing about illicit affairs [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Henelope Endgame</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Hope meets Penelope’s eyes across the bar in Lestat’s, over a thousand miles away from Mystic Falls, she grins into her drink, raising an eyebrow. Penelope raises one right back, a smirk growing on her face. Hope was in New Orleans for the birth of Freya and Keelin’s second child (because one wasn’t enough for Keelin and her need to have a pack, Freya joked) but gods knew what Penelope was up to. Hope's saved from wondering about that very thing when Penelope joins her a moment later, smelling like peonies and gardenias and vanilla and wearing a white satin blouse and black pencil skirt, her blazer tossed over her arm that she throws over the back of the barstool. She looks good, Hope notes, objectively. </p><p>Penelope always looks good. Hope takes a sip of her martini and it burns in her throat. </p><p>“Can’t a girl take a trip away from home without someone tracking her down?” she jokes, stirring her drink with the little toothpick that was stabbed through the cocktail olive and Penelope laughs, really laughs. Not the fake laugh that Hope knows Penelope reserves for others — people who weren’t Hope or Josie or M.G. People Penelope had actually opened up to at school before she left. People she had opened up to when she had come back for her senior year.  </p><p>When she chose to go to school in Boston for undergrad, Hope had stayed in contact with her and they met up whenever Penelope came back to Mystic Falls during school breaks, and she’d enjoyed laughing with Penelope as the witch told stories about the sorority she had joined and the toxically masculine douchebags in too-tight polo shirts, pink shorts, and Sperry topsiders who seemed to only care about kegstands and hedge funds. </p><p>(Little did they know that Penelope Park knew about both to an even greater degree and could give them a run for their money. Which she did. Many times.)  </p><p>“I’m not here for you or your family, Mikaelson. My mom —" Penelope sighs, "there’s a client here for a few nights and we needed to discuss something in person,” she shrugs as she finishes. She had gone to work for her family’s business after college, being sure to major in business and economics, trading the cape for a pantsuit and designer blouses. The job suited Penelope — it was fast-paced and always dynamic and Hope knew that the witch delighted in tearing men down a peg every chance she could get. She and Hope would meet up now for drinks and dinner, both settled in Mystic Falls, even though Penelope was often away for work. Sometimes she would send Hope pictures from London, Dubai, Hong Kong. Places all over the world that work took her.</p><p>Penelope would often bring her souvenirs, too. Usually magnets. Really horrible, tacky magnets. Hope loves them all and they adorn the side of her fridge, along with photos of Freya, Keelin, and Nik. </p><p>“Call it a wonderful coincidence,” Penelope continues, downing the rest of her drink and signaling to the bartender that she wanted another and to make one for Hope as well.“Where’s Landon?” </p><p>“No horrible nickname for him? Who are you and what have you done with Penelope Park? I know you take after Lizzie with your creativity,” Hope replies in mock outrage, eyes shining. </p><p>“And yet she still calls me Satan while Josie is off saving babies in Zimbabwe. Or is it orangutans in Indonesia? Her texts and emails are more infrequent now.” </p><p>“She’s in Chile with Caroline. They think they’ve found a powerful young witch in a village somewhere in the Andes.” Hope replies automatically, her heart clenching. She misses Josie. Maybe not the same way Penelope misses her but —</p><p>“Stop thinking, Mikaelson. Josie and I are just friends and have been for years,” Penelope’s words end Hope’s musings about the nature of their relationship.</p><p>Not that it is her business, now or then. for that matter. Josie and Penelope had always been that couple that acted like a couple even when they weren’t a couple. Twin flames or something like that. Cosmically destined to be in each other’s lives. It has always made Hope a bit jealous — Penelope’s devotion to Josie. As if she was the sun and Penelope rotated around her, stuck in her orbit, spinning and spinning just for her, even when they were no more than friends. </p><p>She wonders what it would be like —</p><p>Because having Penelope’s attention, her eyes focused on you and only you, is something terribly intoxicating. It’s a rush, and it's addicting, because Penelope knew, had always known, how to make you feel as if you were the only person in the room. As if you’re special, seen and heard and valued, just with a glance. It had unnerved Hope when they were younger and still does, knowing when Penelope’s focused on her. Just like she is now, watching Hope silently, her eyes dark and tempting.   </p><p>Hope wonders fleetingly about her destiny, if Landon is her soulmate, her twin flame, if she burned only for him, if — </p><p>“Tell me about your day,” Hope says quickly, clearing her throat. Because she doesn’t want to talk about Landon. About his absence. About how whenever something happened with Raf, Landon was there in a flash but the moment something was happening with Hope’s family, something big and good and not at all the grief that they were used to, Landon was always conspicuously absent. </p><p>She doesn’t want to talk about how she barely feels like Hope Mikaelson anymore, nothing but a shadow of herself. Like she’s going through the motions and what's expected of her and it’s fine. Boring, but fine. And yet, with Penelope, here in this bar away from it all, she feels a bit lighter. Seen. </p><p>She feels more than that, if she’s being honest. She feels like a spark, smoldering under Penelope’s gaze. The rest of the world could be on fire for all she cared. </p><p>“You wanna hear about how I walked into a boardroom and was the only woman out of twenty men? How my mother sent me to get a deal from a man she had been trying for years to persuade to sell his company and how I did it in less than an hour?” Penelope is radiant like this, her head held high, Hope’s eyes following the line of her throat as she swallows her drink. </p><p>“I want to hear every word,” Hope admits, her head swimming from the alcohol and from Penelope next to her. “And then I’ll tell you about Ellie, my newest niece.”</p><hr/><p>They stay until closing and by the time the bartender nervously informs them it’s last call, Hope thinks she would like to stay here forever. Talking with Penelope Park over drinks and forgetting, just for a brief stretch of time, that she had been miserable hours ago because her phone had been silent all day and her boyfriend clearly couldn’t give a shit to even pretend to be happy that she's an aunt for the second time. That family had always been a word synonymous with death and loss for her and here is a life, a brand new one, right in front of them and he was with Raf doing god knows what. </p><p>She walks Penelope back to her hotel, because she has some manners, and because New Orleans has never exactly been a safe place. Or maybe she just wants to prolong the night with Penelope just a little bit more. </p><p>The air feels like it's sizzling with tension, but Hope could be imagining it. They’ve always been close and yet, it feels different somehow and she doesn’t — it doesn’t — “Nightcap?” Penelope’s soft voice interrupts her musings, and it takes Hope a second to realize that they’re standing in front of Penelope's hotel. </p><p>“Champagne? To celebrate?” </p><p>“You read my mind, Mikaelson.” </p><p>This could be a horrible idea. It probably is, Hope thinks, but she wants to go upstairs and have a drink with Penelope. She deserves a damn glass of champagne. </p><p>The door closes behind them and the champagne's forgotten.  </p><p>Hope’s not sure who moves first but she’s certain that everything from the moment she had seen Penelope in the bar has been building to this — Penelope pressing Hope back into the couch in her hotel room, Hope pulling Penelope into her lap because she was too damn far away and Hope needs her so much closer, Penelope’s mouth on hers, insistent and warm and soft, tasting like oranges and whiskey. Hope feels a heat building low in her core, a fire igniting that had been dormant for years. </p><p>They’re tangled in each other as they make it to the edge of the bed, clothes leading from the couch. Their pants go first and then Hope tears her shirt over her head and nearly rips Penelope’s blouse off of her to shove her onto the covers until Penelope’s hands still her movement. </p><p>“Are you going to regret this in the morning?” Penelope asks her and no, her voice shouldn’t be this tender, this caring, while all Hope wants to do is tear her clothes off and have her way with her. She hadn’t realized it until the thought sped into her mind and now it’s all she can think of, it’s all she needs. </p><p>Because she’s always been so good at putting everyone else’s needs above her own, because she’s ignored the voice in her head for so long telling her that Landon is it, that she’s happy, that she forgot what it felt like to want to fall apart under someone else’s hands.</p><p>Someone who was so good at breaking things.</p><p>At putting them back together.</p><p>At burning. </p><p>“What if I say yes?” </p><p>“Then at least you’re being honest.” Penelope takes a deep breath, a nearly imperceptible shake in her hands as they cling to Hope’s, still wrapped around the buttons of her blouse. </p><p>“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” Hope offers — it’s the best she can do. She won’t regret it. Maybe her villainous heritage is shining through, but Penelope's never been someone she could regret, no matter the circumstances. </p><p>“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Penelope says and looks at Hope, her jaw set before she removes her hands. </p><p>“Why did you kiss me?” Hope asks her, before they move an inch, because she has to know. She has to understand why she’s drawn to Penelope, has been for years, and only now — </p><p>“Sometimes a girl has to shoot her shot,” Penelope shrugs, her response all bravado and lies. She seems to decide to be truthful under Hope’s gaze. “You’re beautiful, Hope Mikaelson. You deserve to feel beautiful. And you kissed me back.”</p><p>Hope has no response to that, can feel no words on the tip of her tongue, so she kisses Penelope. Because every word Penelope’s saying is unraveling her further. Because in this room and with every fiber of her being, she wants Penelope Park, wants to keep this fire that has ignited between them burning until it’s embers and ash. Every kiss feels like it’s breathing oxygen into her soul, and she may actually combust from desire with the way she grabs and pulls Penelope over her, falling to the bed. From the way Penelope is hovering over her, fingertips trailing down her ribcage, across her stomach, and down her thighs. Hope switches their position then because she needs more, so much more. More skin, more kisses, more bites, more Penelope.</p><p>It had all been building to this — Penelope underneath her, whispering her name in her ear as Hope spreads Penelope’s legs open wider to settle between them; Hope’s chest heaving as she rides Penelope’s hand, scratching lines down Penelope’s back, her lips hot against Penelope’s ear, her moans breathless and breaking. It goes on for what feels like hours, what is probably hours, not that Hope bothers to check, and Hope's sweaty and sore in all the right places and she falls asleep wrapped in Penelope, her mouth at the back of Penelope’s neck, her lips kissing her nape and their legs intertwined. </p><p>She wakes up to a missed call and text from Landon, her pants hanging off of the back of the couch, and her shirt on the floor. Penelope lay on her back, faint marks on her shoulder blades, lines from the pillow on her face as she sleeps. Hope wants to reach out to her, but she stops, her hand hovering in midair. She dresses silently and slips out of the room and goes on with the rest of her day as if last night hadn’t happened. As if she still couldn’t taste Penelope on her lips. </p><p>Because she didn’t regret it in the morning, not at all. It had happened and it wouldn’t ever happen again. </p><p>Her life will go on, but she’ll get to have this, the memory of the magical, wonderful night she got to feel alive, where every inch of her skin burned and the world consisted only of her and Penelope. She calls Landon back once she’s standing on the street, and it’s so goddamn easy, to spin a web of lies he won’t ever be able to unravel. </p><p>Everything is back to normal. </p><p>And she can still taste Penelope on her lips.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things stay normal when she flies back home, normal when she returns to her empty house, normal when she showers and unpacks and throws herself into work. She knew her gut instincts had been correct when Landon had brought up their moving in together and she had pushed off the conversation, because now, coming back to a quiet house, a space of her own, is something she needs more than anything.</p><p>It means space for her thoughts, which all have to do with one person in particular, but at least it’s a space that didn’t have Landon written over everything. Her family, however, is splashed over the entire place — especially since she had moved into the Mikaelson Mansion after graduating. It was a reminder of everything that they had lost, everything that Hope had lost, but it was <em>hers</em>. She had filled rooms with paintings, her paintings. Her memories.</p><p>And she wasn’t ready to share that with anyone, not even Landon. Not yet, at least. </p><p>Landon comes back from his boy’s trip with Raf (because a boy’s trip was clearly more important than the birth of her niece in the grand scheme of things, not that Hope <em>minded</em>) and he comes over right after he gets back, smelling like the woods and fire and camping and not at all like peonies and gardenias and vanilla — and everything is fine because she doesn’t see or hear from Penelope for a week. Which is also fine. Great, even. </p><p>Because they’re friends who go stretches of time without speaking to each other, sure, but they’re still friends. Nothing, not even an ill-advised rendezvous in a swanky New Orleans hotel that had made Hope feel alive for the first time in years, could change that. </p><p>And then Lizzie Saltzman decides to host a dinner party. </p><p>“Remind me again why we have to go,” Landon’s voice complains loudly through the speaker of Hope’s phone. She’s getting dressed, the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder as she pulls on a white button-up that smells clean, doing up the buttons quickly as she sighs. “Lizzie hates me.”</p><p>“Lizzie’s an acquired taste, much like you,” Hope replies, but she closes her eyes just the same because while she's less than eager to share a meal with Lizzie and Jade, who were disgustingly in love, she knew Penelope would be there. And M.G. and Kym to round out the group, but Hope hadn’t slept with either of them last weekend, so they were the least of her worries. “But they’re our friends and I don’t know, Landon, it’s nice to go and have dinner with our friends.” </p><p>He picks her up shortly after and she grabs a bottle of red wine from her counter on her way out, wishing it was whiskey before she climbs into the passenger seat of Landon’s car. He leans over to give her a kiss and she turns her head at the last moment, his lips falling on her cheek clumsily. She’s still upset at him for the conversation earlier. </p><p>“Hope, I’m sorry,” he begins, his self-awareness surprising even Hope, but she was sure that her expression was one that told him that he wasn’t in her good graces, even as he pulled away from the curb. </p><p>“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. “We’ve had this conversation too many times before and I don’t get it. They’re my friends, Landon, my family. You have Raf and I have Josie and yes, also Lizzie. That’s not changing anytime soon.” </p><p>“But Josie’s not even around,” Landon observes, and Hope really wishes that there weren’t laws against open containers in cars because she is <em>this </em>close to pulling the cork out of the red wine with her teeth and starting the dinner party early. </p><p>“That doesn’t mean anything, Landon. It’s just dinner. With or without Josie. They’re our friends. I guess, next time, you don’t have to come.” </p><p>He doesn't say anything to that. </p><p>Lizzie opens her apartment door with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and Hope walks in and spots Jade and Penelope in the kitchen, their heads bent together over a roasting pan. Penelope’s head snaps upwards at the sound of the door closing and Hope sees her expression change from one of polite interest to one in which her mask is firmly in place. Hope could see through it though, the raised eyebrow and challenging look as Landon joins Hope one that she knew intimately. Hope’s sure her face turns scarlet as she thinks of other <em>intimate</em> things. </p><p>“Satan was just telling us that she saw you in New Orleans, Hope,” Lizzie says, with a hint of <em>something </em>in her words. “Small world.”</p><p>“You didn’t —” Landon begins before Hope smiles brightly, grabbing his arm to silence him. </p><p>“Sure I did. Penelope and I got drinks on my last night in town. Freya and Keelin were still at the hospital with Ellie so I just found a random place.”</p><p>“I couldn’t very easily leave her all alone at a bar by herself,” Penelope shrugs, hiding a smirk behind a glass of wine. Hope raises an eyebrow and Penelope raises one to match hers. It was so much like the look on Penelope’s face at the bar last week and Hope feels her mouth go dry. “She looked like she needed some company.” </p><p>“That’s — that’s nice of you, Penelope,” Landon grins, moving the arm that Hope was holding to securely hold her around the waist. </p><p>“Don’t mention it. Seriously, never mention it again,” she responds dryly, but her tone is light and Hope just shakes her head. She swallows deeply, her heart racing. Penelope, it seems, has picked up on Hope’s trepidation, and throws her a lifeline. </p><p>“Can I get you some wine, Hope? Landon? Lucifer, I mean — Lizzie, where’s the bottle opener?” </p><p>“Hey now,” Jade says, jaw set as Penelope smirks at the two blondes. Jade holds up the knife she had been using to slice the pot roast and Penelope sticks her tongue out at her, hands raised. </p><p>“Threats of bodily harm are no way to make friends, vamp,” Penelope says cooly, even if there is a hint of laughter and a challenge behind her words. Hope never really got the friendship that existed between Penelope, Jade, and Lizzie. After Penelope had come back to Salvatore, the three had seemed to be constantly at odds, like two alphas fighting for dominance. And Penelope's constant bickering with Lizzie surely couldn't have helped things once the blonde siphon and the vampire started dating. But now that they were older (and now that Penelope wasn't trying to get into Josie's pants any longer, as far as Hope knew) they seemed to tolerate each other in a weird sort of way. And Hope had it on good authority that Jade and Penelope frequently worked out together because Lizzie was far too stuck up to trade in her yoga membership for a gym pass. </p><p>“Oh ho ho, you know it isn’t a dinner party at Lizzie’s if there aren’t insults and threats tossed back and forth!” M.G. says from the doorway, a thousand-watt smile lighting up his face. </p><p>“Don’t vampires have to be asked in, Milton?” Penelope asks, pouring Hope a generous glass of wine. She passes it wordlessly to Hope, her fingers touching hers and lingering a beat too long. Hope wishes it didn’t send jolts through her hand and straight to her heart, but it does. </p><p>“Yeah, well, the technicality is that Lizzie said I could come in once ages ago, and I think that’s all I needed.”  M.G. claps his hands together as Kym joins him. </p><p>“It is shocking that you seemed to have learned nothing at school about the mythology surrounding your kind,” Penelope says, but M.G. just walks over to her and engulfs her in a hug, both of them actually. Hope feels Penelope’s arms circle around her back as they lean into M.G. and Hope doesn’t miss the way that Penelope’s hand drops away, touching the small of her back on the way down. </p><p>Penelope so close sends shivers up and down her spine and she has no idea how she’s going to make it through hours of dinner when all she wants — she exhales sharply. There’s no point in lingering on things she can’t have. </p><p>Dinner's easier than expected. Penelope's at the opposite end of the table. She’s far enough away that Hope can no longer smell the delicious scent of her perfume and it’s a bit easier for Hope to breathe, even as she feels her eyes on her for most of the meal. Penelope entertains them all with a story about a businessman she met in Florida once that was definitely selling alligators out of an office park and M.G. and Kym tell everyone about their honeymoon in Italy. And it's nice, mostly. </p><p>M.G. reaches straight across her for the salt and Jade shakes her head at him, his lack of manners irking her.“Let Hope breathe, man.”</p><p>He’s about to apologize when Landon’s voice cuts through the room. “Yeah, she needs her space.” His voice is cold as ice and feels like a knife searing through Hope. </p><p>“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Penelope asks sharply, and all eyes turn to her. She shrugs and sips her wine, her lips pursed. </p><p>“Lizzie and Jade live together with no problem and they’ve been together for half as long as us.” </p><p>“And we’re twice as functional, pigeon,” Lizzie bites out. </p><p>It’s possibly the most humiliating moment of her life, her relationship — and all its problems — paraded out in front of a dinner table for her friends to gawk at and disassemble. </p><p>“Landon,” Hope begins, but he cuts her off swiftly. </p><p>“No, you know, maybe you’ll be willing to <em> finally </em> talk about this now that we have an audience.” </p><p>Hope takes one look at him before she pushes her chair back from the table, spilling her glass of wine on herself in the process. Her retreat to the restroom is less than graceful with a wine-stained shirt, the material now white with splashes of red and pink. She locks herself in, hands clenched on the sink as she breathes, head ducked down. </p><p>The door opens and closes and Hope's about ready to curse the person who entered, knowing Landon was either coming to dig the knife in deeper or apologize for his words. But the voice that washes over her is tender, far too tender, and the touch on her back burns as she turns to face Penelope. </p><p>Penelope, whose eyes travel up and down her torso before returning to her face. Penelope, who looks at her with a hell of a lot more compassion than is warranted, now or ever, if Hope is being honest. </p><p>“I thought you might need a minute,” she begins, crossing her arms over her chest. </p><p>“I might need more than a minute,” Hope admits and she straightens up under Penelope’s gaze, leaning against the sink. </p><p>Penelope takes a step closer and Hope tells herself to breathe, tells herself to inhale and exhale because even being this close to Penelope is already setting off all of Hope’s alarm bells and she should keep Penelope at arm’s length the same way she’s kept everyone at arm’s length over the years, especially Landon, but Penelope somehow manages to always bulldoze her way through even Hope’s cleverly crafted self-defense. </p><p>“This is the same shirt you wore last weekend,” Penelope observes, her fingers tracing up and down Hope’s arms to her shoulder. The touch is light, searching, and Hope blinks and looks into Penelope’s eyes, caught in her orbit. </p><p>“It was clean. Well, it used to be clean,” Hope glances down at her stained shirt and Penelope just moves closer. She had been suffocating under Landon’s gaze, everyone’s gaze at dinner, but now, as the sole object of Penelope’s focus, she feels anything but breathless. She feels weightless. </p><p>Penelope’s hand reaches up to clutch her jaw, her fingers warm as her thumb moves over Hope’s cheek and Hope can’t help but turn into the touch. When Penelope brings their lips together, it's chaste, compared to the kisses they shared last weekend, but her lips are no less soft, and Hope nearly moans into the feeling, clutching at Penelope’s waist to bring her closer. Penelope brings both hands up to Hope’s face and Hope can feel her hands flexing in her hair, can feel the electric way that Penelope’s body melds into hers. </p><p>Penelope gently nips at the bottom of Hope’s lip that she had captured between hers and Hope whimpers again, the sensation sending shock waves to her core. Penelope steps back then and her breath is warm as it ghosts across Hope’s cheeks. </p><p>“Don’t let him speak to you like that,” Penelope whispers, her eyes swirling and her pupils dilated. “No one should ever speak to you like that,” she states more firmly and Hope can only nod. She sees Penelope’s heavy-lidded gaze, eyelashes so long that they are casting shadows over Penelope’s cheeks and she leans in again, her forehead against Penelope’s. Penelope’s lips ghost over her temple and Hope just swallows deeply before she feels hands at her waist. </p><p>“I should get you cleaned up,” Penelope nearly laughs, biting her lip because if Hope was any sort of mind reader, she knew that Penelope was thinking exactly what she was thinking, and getting cleaned up was the last thing on her mind. </p><p>“Hope?” comes Landon’s voice through the door and Penelope curses before rubbing a thumb over Hope’s lower lip, the other one waving over her shirt to remove the stains in a flash. </p><p>“Gorgeous,” Penelope breathes, her voice breathless in a way that Hope has never heard before. She opens the door to Landon and places a hand on her hip. </p><p>“You’re lucky I’ve been around Lizzie long enough to know a good cleaning spell, phoenix,” Penelope says, shoving past Landon and hitting his shoulder with hers as she passes. </p><p>“I don’t — we’re not — I don’t want to do this right now, Landon,” Hope says, crossing her arms over her and looking anywhere but at him. </p><p>“I know, I know. I was out of line. I just feel — we haven’t been doing so well, lately.” </p><p>“And who’s fault is that?” Hope’s voice raises and yeah, maybe she did want to have this talk now, in Lizzie Saltzman’s bathroom for all of their friends to hear. “You don’t show up, Landon. You just — you fuck off with Raf whenever you get the chance. So yeah, we haven’t been doing so well recently.” </p><p>“I want to be better, Hope,” he pleads and she can see the earnestness shining through his words. </p><p>“I know you do.” She sighs and pulls him into her arms. </p><hr/><p>The rest of the evening is less eventful, even when Hope’s way too aware of Penelope with every single breath she takes. The next morning, she’s up early and takes a ten-mile run around the city and into the woods to blow off some steam, transforming into her wolf halfway through the run to really get all of her frustrations out. When she returns to her pile of clothes, a text message lights up her phone. </p><p>It’s just an address from Penelope, but the implication is clear in everything and Hope rushes home to shower. She could ignore it, which would be easy to do. The smart thing to do, really. Or — </p><p>The address is for one of the hotels downtown that Penelope must have spent a fortune on. She knocks on Room 413’s door and Penelope answers, leaning against the doorframe before she pulls Hope in by the collar, crashing their lips together. The hotel’s a high-rise and Penelope fucks her as she’s looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressed up against the glass before spinning her around after she comes, her legs still shaking. Hope decides it’s time she evens things out and picks Penelope up, calmly walking them back toward the bed. </p><p>“I forgot you liked doing this,” Penelope says in her arms before Hope throws her down on the bed, lips on her collarbone and palms and fingers kneading Penelope’s breasts. </p><p>“Shut up, Penelope.” </p><p>“I didn’t miss that, though,” Penelope sighs, as if she was hurt, arching her back and hissing as Hope bites down on her nipple and tugs the bud into her mouth, soothing the sting with her tongue. The way Penelope grinds up into her tells Hope that she very much enjoyed that, so Hope moves to the other nipple and does the same thing. </p><p>Sleeping with Penelope again, so soon after New Orleans, with the dust barely settled from last night calms her in ways that only shifting could. Stress and anxiety flee from her body as Penelope sticks her head between her legs and Hope clutches and tears the sheets in her hands. Oh well, Penelope could probably afford the additional charge. </p><p>The first time was a mistake (it wasn’t a mistake, could never be a mistake) and now that it’s happened again, it's turning into a habit, one that Hope isn’t sure she can break. Because Penelope doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t ask anything more of her, and seems content to give and give while Hope takes and takes, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of her until they’re both sweaty and sated. </p><p>“I’ll be gone for the next two weeks. Don’t miss me too much,” Penelope jokes as they lay in the bed after everything. Hope laughs loudly, an eyebrow raised. </p><p>“Where to?” </p><p>“Singapore. Want anything?” </p><p>“Even if I tell you what I want, it’s still going to come in the form of the most ridiculous magnet you can find,” she teases. </p><p>“You’re not wrong,” Penelope admits and she rolls over Hope, pinning her to the bed, her hair falling in brown curtains over them. Hope pushes a few stray locks behind her ears, eyes darting around her face. “You’re going to miss me,” Penelope adds.  </p><p>“You’re delusional,” Hope sighs, her arms slung around Penelope’s neck and moving down her back, marveling at the soft skin beneath her fingers. </p><p>“No, I’m not,” Penelope says, lips meeting the juncture between Hope’s neck and shoulder, soft kisses turning into rough bites. </p><p>No, she’s not, Hope thinks to herself, sinking into the feeling of Penelope on top of her, all around her, and ignoring the pain in her chest at the thought of what fourteen days without Penelope would look like now. Because, this, Penelope, is like playing with fire. And Hope knows one day soon, she’s going to get burned. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hope tosses herself into work over the next two weeks. After Malivore and the Merge and everything traumatic that had happened when they were younger, she had always thought that she would have to live a life looking over her shoulder, just like her family. Waiting for the next threat. Waiting for the next big bad to come out of the shadows and wreak havoc on Mystic Falls. </p><p>But it’s been years since even the most serious of monster attacks and Hope had followed Landon to the University of Virginia, majoring in art history, even though she knew the moment she collected her degree, she didn’t want to have anything to do with the painters of the Renaissance or even those that were far more contemporary.</p><p>No, she wanted to make her own art, make her own mark on the world that wasn’t covered in shades of red and stained with blood. She wanted to create rather than destroy. </p><p>She had converted one of the rooms in the mansion into her studio, installing a balcony that overlooked the woods for those days where she needed to be outside, needed to feel the sun on her face and around her and she could just paint and breathe.</p><p>She had shown in a few galleries around town and every time, her shows had sold out thanks to an anonymous buyer who had always waited until the show was nearly finished before his art broker approached with a figure written on a bone-white slip of paper. Hope knew enough to not ask questions about the buyer, even as the words flew to the tip of her tongue. She was lucky to have someone so interested in her art, even if they chose to remain nameless. But still, she always wondered. </p><p>On day ten of Penelope’s business trip (not that Hope was counting), Hope’s laying in bed, her bedroom light long since turned off as she scrolled through news sites on her laptop when her phone rings loudly. Hope scrambles to grab it off of her bedside table, nearly dropping it on the floor, but the name on the Caller ID makes her heart skip a beat and her hands grow sweaty. But it’s not just a phone call from Penelope — it's a FaceTime. </p><p>“It’s midnight here,” she says by way of greeting, leaning over to turn on her light and she can’t really see anything on Penelope’s screen, can only hear that she’s walking, before a door opens and closes and she hears two clunks on the carpeted ground. The screen lightens and Hope takes in a gorgeously decorated hotel room, absolutely massive, before Penelope’s face comes into the frame.  </p><p>“You’re up late,” Penelope breathes, a wide smile overtaking her features. She must have placed the phone on a bedside table. “Did I wake you?” </p><p>“Nearly,” Hope exhales, sitting up straighter in the bed. Penelope’s makeup is perfect because of course it is and she’s dressed in a pale pink blouse and grey striped skirt, her hands at her waist. “What time is it in Singapore?” </p><p>“Just after one in the afternoon. We finally closed the deal over lunch, so I’ll be coming a bit early and I — I wanted to call you.” Hope bites her lip because it had been a long week of texting Penelope with very short responses, probably due to the time difference, so this was definitely more than a little unexpected.</p><p>Certainly not unwelcome though.</p><p>The relief washes through her, because Penelope had <em>wanted </em>to talk to her, which is foolish because she and Penelope were — whatever the hell they were. Friends? Fuck buddies? And Hope definitely shouldn’t feel this rush of affection at the sight of Penelope’s face on her phone screen, but — </p><p>“Congratulations. You aren’t out celebrating with your team?” Hope was grasping at straws because, for all she knew, Penelope went into these mergers meetings with a team of lawyers and consultants who could wiggle a deal out of anyone, but Penelope was the closer. The secret weapon. She always had been. </p><p>“No, I just told you that I wanted to talk to you,” Penelope repeats and her smile is no less dazzling than it had been moments before. “I think — it shouldn’t be this hard to be gone for so long,” she continues, almost to herself as she turns away from the phone, walking over to a desk that Hope could see in the corner and waking up her sleeping laptop. She leans over the desk for a moment and Hope has a fantastic view of her ass in the tight skirt as she types.  </p><p>“You miss home,” Hope observes and Penelope turns to look back at her, her eyes serious as she tilts her head. <em> I miss you, </em> Hope thinks and she immediately hates herself for it because she’s needy and Penelope’s half a world away and those brown eyes are looking at her with such <em>concern </em>that Hope can nearly feel it, but Penelope just closes her eyes for a moment as if gathering herself. </p><p>“Something like that,” Penelope concedes, walking back to the phone and sitting on the side of her bed. She grabs her phone to bring up to her face. Hope sees a massive balcony and high-rise buildings over Penelope’s shoulder, the sunlight shining through the glass. Penelope throws her hair over one shoulder and Hope watches how the sunlight tinges it red and gold. “A little blonde birdie told me that you have another show coming up in a few months. You hadn’t told me. I’m proud of you, Hope.” Penelope’s voice is slightly admonishing, but Hope just feels her face flush. </p><p>She had gotten word in the last week that another gallery, a bigger one this time, wanted to do a show with six of her pieces and she had told Lizzie, Josie, and Jade in a group text that had somehow made its way to Penelope. She blamed Lizzie. Lizzie Saltzman always had a way of inserting herself in situations that she definitely did not belong. </p><p>“It’s nothing, really,” Hope says slowly, but it was something. Bigger galleries meant bigger shows and that meant so much to Hope. “I was going to tell you when you’re back.” </p><p>“You know, I wish you were here. We could celebrate both of our successes. That might make me miss <em>home </em>a bit less,” Penelope says after a few moments, her eyebrows knit together in contemplation as if she was wishing she hadn’t said that out loud. </p><p>But the low tone that Penelope had used on the word <em>home </em>was exactly the same low tone that she always used when they had sex. The raspy timber when Penelope would say her name or whisper in her ear the things she wanted to do to Hope, the things she wanted Hope to do to her. The tone was the same as the one when she told Hope <em>don’t you dare stop </em>ten days ago in the hotel — that voice that sent shivers and up and down Hope’s spine and straight to her core. </p><p>“Yeah?” Hope asks quietly, her throat already dry and the word cracking on her lips because god, Penelope was miles away but she could feel the way her words washed over her as if she was right next to her. </p><p>“Yeah, and then everyone wanted to go out for drinks after the meeting because we finally, finally got what we came here for but, well, all I could think of was you.” Penelope leans over and puts the phone down on her bedside table again, propped up against something as she stands before the screen. Looking at her now, Hope could see the flush in Penelope's cheeks that she usually got after a drink or two, but she says nothing, mesmerized. Penelope steps back a few paces and Hope has a full-body view of her, not a hair out of place and not a speck of lint of her clothes. Her eyes are dark, they’re always dark, and Hope can’t read anything in them. </p><p>Penelope runs a hand through her hair and then her fingers move down her throat as she watches Hope, who swallows deeply, settling into her bed and feeling herself grow wet at the sight. Penelope’s hands linger on her top as she unbuttons each button slowly. The fabric falls to her elbows once the shirt is unbuttoned and Penelope lets it drop to the floor, leaving herself only in a tan lace bra and her skirt. Hope’s eyes travel from Penelope’s chest down to her stomach and back up, not saying a word. </p><p>Penelope's hands quickly move to the zipper at the side of her waist and Hope breathes out the word "fuck,” unsure if she had actually said that out loud until Penelope chuckles, letting the skirt fall to the floor with her shirt. She steps out of the clothes and toward her phone once again, wearing only a matching bra and lacy thong. </p><p>“You’re trying to kill me,” Hope exhales, shaking her head, squeezing her thighs together under her blankets, her free hand grasping at the top of her comforter. </p><p>“Quite the opposite, really,” Penelope replies, fingers hooking in the waistband of her thong as she bends over, laughing lightly and Hope feels it as if the laugh had been against her skin. She had no idea until Penelope that a single sound could make her absolutely wet, but she can feel it between her legs. Penelope shakes her hips as she shimmies out of her underwear and reaches behind herself to unhook her bra, her nipples hard in the sunlight and Hope wanted — she wanted to do so much. Fucking distance.</p><p>“What — uh, what are we doing, Penelope?” </p><p>“Isn’t it obvious? I want to watch you touch yourself, Hope. I want you to come while I watch you and I want to come while you watch me.”</p><p>She settles on the bed now, turning the phone to face her as she lay and Hope has a full view of the top of her body, her head and her chest, her hands skating over her nipples, rubbing and pinching them the way Hope knew she liked. Hope nearly moans at the sight, which makes Penelope laugh again, low and quiet as she settles into her bed, her head on the pillow. Hope couldn’t look away from Penelope even if she tried and she can hardly contain the moan that escapes out of her throat. </p><p>“Surely me stripping in front of you had to give you some idea,” Penelope sighs, switching to her other nipple as she runs her free hand through her hair again. </p><p>“Mmm,” Hope responds, the hand that isn’t clenched around her phone toying with the waistband of her shorts. “You want us to do it at the same time?” </p><p>“That’s the idea. Unless you have another idea? Or if you want to go to bed. I’ve kept you up fairly late.” Penelope looks deep into the camera and Hope can feel the intensity of her gaze, can feel herself dripping down her thigh and she feels dizzy, even as she runs her hand down her lower stomach and over the top of her panties, her breath coming out in gasps.  </p><p>“No, you just — caught me off guard, Penelope. You always do,” Hope admits. It’s more than she’d normally say. But she wants this. She’s shocked at how much she wants this with Penelope. She’s already so turned on and they haven't even done anything yet. Penelope seems to keep having that effect on her. It’s disconcerting. </p><p>Penelope’s gaze is heavy and heady and — “Just imagine it’s me touching you, Hope. Running one finger through you, knowing how wet you are for me.” And Hope is powerless to do anything but bite her lip slightly as she slides her hand down, past her underwear and over her center, finger coated as she moves it up and down as Penelope had said. </p><p>She rolls her hips into her hand, eyes closing and chest heaving as Penelope watches her, soft words falling from her lips. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you? I can tell you are. Are you circling your clit?” Hope nods and gasps, her index finger moving in circles over herself as she slides further down onto her pillow, rubbing her clit the way Penelope would with her tongue. She didn't spare a thought that she was on one side of the world and Penelope was on the other because she could practically feel the other girl with her. </p><p>“You know I am,” Hope responds and Penelope moans into the phone. Hope can’t, won’t open her eyes yet as she slips her hand down lower, her back arching. </p><p>And Penelope must know what she’s done because she asks, “You always taste so good. Are you inside of yourself yet?” </p><p>“Yeah, yes, Penelope. Fuck,” Hope says, moving her hand as fast as she can in and out of herself with two fingers, her walls clenching around her fingers. She wishes it were Penelope inside of her. Her palm hits her clit as she plunges her fingers in and out of herself, the orgasm building as she grinds into her hand. Hope is close, so damn close, her hips jerking up and down and her clit throbbing as she fucks herself. “I miss you touching me,” she whispers.</p><p>Hope hears Penelope moan another time before she says, “Open your eyes. I want to see you,” and Hope does. </p><p>She sees Penelope watching her, eyes dark and pupils blown and Hope feels her body shudder and break, the orgasm flowing through her, a crest of a wave overtaking her. She comes as she watches one of Penelope’s hands clutching at her breast while the other is out of view, no doubt touching herself as well. Hope thinks about telling her she looks beautiful, otherworldly even, her mouth open and whimpers escaping her lips and Hope swears she can hear her name just before Penelope comes, her back arching off of the bed. Hope’s eyes close then, the aftershocks of her own orgasm riddling her body.  </p><p>It takes Hope what feels like hours to come back down from that and she sinks into her pillows. She opens her eyes again, breathing deeply and watching Penelope’s chest rise and fall. The hand that had been out of view comes back up and Penelope licks her fingers. Hope feels herself clench again at the sight and Penelope just grins. </p><p>“You’re amazing,” Penelope breathes, a very satisfied grin on her face. </p><p>“You’re not so bad yourself,” Hope laughs, licking her lips as if she could taste Penelope’s lips and Penelope on them. </p><p>Penelope stretches then, like a cat, languid and graceful movements and Hope feels herself sigh, sleep tugging at the corners of her mind. Her eyes felt heavy and she fights against sleep, knowing it was the middle of the day for Penelope, that she probably had so many other things to be doing. </p><p>“You can sleep now, Hope,” Penelope says sagely, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard of her hotel room bed. “I’ll be home in two days and your gift and myself will be waiting for you,” she whispers, and Hope just nods, propping her phone up with her free pillow and snuggling deeper into her blanket. She thinks she hears “Dream sweet, beautiful,” before she drops off to sleep, but she can’t be sure.</p><hr/><p>She wakes the next morning with her phone completely dead and sunlight streaming through her window. And maybe it had all been a dream because she'd done a lot of painting yesterday and sometimes the fumes got to her, but as she frantically reaches over to grab her charger and wait for her phone to boot back up, she knows what happened wasn’t a dream. </p><p>It’s a Thursday and she has a text from Landon about dinner later (fuck, she had forgotten about that) and a photo from Penelope of her in the airport in Singapore, a smirk on her face as she sat in one of the executive lounges. She had captioned it <em> Can’t wait to see you </em>and Hope just smiles, falling back onto her pillows. </p><p>She breezes through her day, answering emails and coordinating the upcoming show, and planning and planning her collection, knowing that Penelope wouldn’t be back until the next night, but the excitement runs through her veins, even when Landon comes over. They have dinner together and it’s better than it has been with him recently. He seems to be trying, offering to plan a trip to go down to New Orleans to see Keelin and Freya and the kids and Hope can’t fault him for that. </p><p>He nearly falls asleep as they curl up together on Hope’s couch to watch a movie and she nudges him awake, his arm heavy over her shoulder. “Go home,” she tells him, but she says it in a caring way because she cares about Landon, she does. He was her first — everything, really. And whatever this is or isn’t with Penelope will fizzle out sooner or later because it’s Penelope and they can go back to whatever they were before New Orleans and before Hope knew what Penelope sounded like as she teetered on the edge of her orgasm and before she knew how she tasted. </p><p>Things can go back to normal. </p><p>But Penelope texts her on Friday night that she’s home (finally) and Hope rushes over to her apartment, taking one look at her as she opens the door and pulling the witch into her arms. Penelope’s hair is wet and curling around her face, smelling of grapefruit, and she’s dressed in sweatpants and a pullover sweater that smells like fresh laundry and Hope inhales the scent, wrapping herself in it as she drops to her knees in front of Penelope, shoving her back onto her couch. </p><p>She says nothing as they lay on the floor of Penelope’s living room together, Hope’s clothes tossed around the room and hanging from a coat rack until Penelope gets up and walks over to her dining room table totally naked, returning with a gold gift bag and dropping it into Hope’s hands. Hope sits up, laying on her stomach, and pulls out a snowglobe with the famous Marina Bay Sands Hotel inside of it, shaking the souvenir and watching the floating pieces slowly descend back to the bottom. </p><p>Penelope joins her on the rug, holding her finger up to one of the buildings and narrows her eyes — “And that room, right there, is the one that I stayed in,” she jokes, and Hope just shoves her before she sticks her hand into the bag again, pulling out a gaudy magnet with a creature on it with a lion’s head and fish body. </p><p>“You’re so predictable sometimes. So, what’s it supposed to be?” Hope asks and Penelope leans her head in her hand, watching Hope calmly before grabbing the magnet. </p><p>“This is the Singaporean merlion and it’s the national symbol of the city-state. It’s cute. Like you.” Penelope grins, handing the magnet back to Hope who leans in to kiss Penelope’s cheek, lingering by her ear. </p><p>“Thank you,” she whispers and means it. They lay like that for a while and Hope listens to the sounds around them because her house is so far removed from everyone else and Penelope lives in the center of it all. It’s overwhelming and intoxicating, but maybe that’s just Penelope next to her.  </p><p>She dresses later and Penelope pulls on a navy bathrobe, yawning because Hope was sure her internal clock was absolutely destroyed with the time change and all of the flying, but Penelope just smiles at her brightly as she walks her to the door. </p><p>“Don’t forget this,” Penelope smirks, pulling up the hood of Hope’s jacket over her hair as she stands by the door, her arms crossed over her chest. “Mystic Falls loves to talk.” </p><p>“Y<em>ou </em> love to talk.” </p><p>“I do not. I’ll take all of my secrets to the grave, Mikaelson.” </p><p>“Oh yeah, what about what happened after the mombie scare at Salvatore?” </p><p>“I never told a soul,” Penelope says through her teeth and Hope wishes she believed her. Penelope rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically, leaning against the wall. She almost looks like she wants to invite Hope to stay the night. But they — that would break <em>so </em>many rules. Rules they haven’t even talked about yet. Rules Hope knows they need to establish. </p><p>As it is, Penelope reaches out and places her hands on Hope’s hips, eyes unfocused as she looks at them before traveling upwards to Hope’s eyes. </p><p>“Fine,” she sighs, “I <em>might</em> have told Milton about it. It’s not my fault that I walked back to my room covered in <em> bite marks</em>, is it, Hope?” </p><p>“You bruise easily. You still do,” Hope shrugs, slinging her arms around Penelope’s neck. Penelope pulls her to her for a swift kiss that leaves her knees weak and as Hope walks to her car on shaky legs, she realizes that if Penelope had asked her to stay, she isn’t sure she could have said no. </p><p><em> If </em>she would have wanted to say no.</p><p>None of this is real, she reminds herself, unlocking the door to her dark and empty house. Hope has Landon. Penelope probably has a ready and waiting suitor in every town around the globe, and this is just a fling. Time will go by, and this’ll be forgotten. </p><p>Her legs still feel shaky as she walks upstairs to bed.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Rules,” Hope says into the phone after Penelope had answered in <em>that </em>voice that she liked to use. “We need rules.” </p><p>“Are you afraid that I might tell all of our friends what we’re doing?” Penelope jokes, but Hope can hear the way she seems to be taking this seriously, inhaling sharply against the receiver. “That I’m your mistress, a kept woman?” </p><p>“You’re not my mistress, Penelope. But we just — what’s in it for you?” Hope gets up from the armchair in her studio, walking to the balcony and leaning over the edge. The sunlight soothes her aching back and neck, after having spent hours hunched over her easel, a palette of browns and reds swirling together before her eyes. Her legs ached from last night with Penelope and she was sure that she had rug burn on her ass, but Penelope sounds as chipper as someone with terrible jet lag could sound. Unless she had traveled so much that she was immune to the effects of international flying. Maybe that was it. </p><p>“You’re asking the wrong questions, Mikaelson,” Penelope sighs and Hope knows with the use of her last name that Penelope is retreating into herself, but Hope has to prod because there’s a fucking snow globe on the desk in her studio of a hotel in Singapore that she’s never been to but where she knew Penelope had fucked herself to thoughts of her, to her voice, and yeah, she might be spiraling a bit. </p><p>She had barely been able to sleep the night after getting back from Penelope’s, thoughts swirling with too many ideas and scenarios and Hope needs to get them on the same page before something happens. Before someone gets hurt. Before they hit the point of no return.  </p><p>“What questions should I be asking then? This isn’t — I’m not some company that you can come in and acquire, Penelope. I have this guy in my life, this really great guy and —” </p><p>“We could stop,” Penelope offers and Hope feels her heart sink because she didn’t want to stop. Not really. She just wants some clarity about who she was and where she stood in Penelope’s life. </p><p>“That’s not what — unless you want to stop.” </p><p>“I like fucking you, Hope. A lot. I knew that I would, but there’s wondering and then there’s knowing,” Penelope says cryptically and Hope wishes that she had waited to talk to her about this in person. Hope imagines her leaning back in the chair in her office, her legs kicked up on the top of her desk, the sharp glint of her heels like daggers in the sunlight. “If you aren’t going to leave Landon and I know you aren’t because you’re you and you’re loyal to a fault, then maybe you’re right and we need some rules.” </p><p>Loyal. It’s an interesting word choice for a cheater. Sometimes Hope wonders how Penelope sees her. Sometimes she wishes she could see herself like that. </p><p>“No sleepovers,” Hope says quickly, biting her lip as she gazes out at her backyard. The hedges were overgrown and her bougainvillea looked like it was on its last leg and not spiraling up the gazebo in the way she had wished it would. She would have to call someone about that. </p><p>“That’s fine. You probably snore anyway.” </p><p>“You’ll never know, I guess,” Hope teases, but she wishes she could hide the way she was smiling into her phone. “No telling anyone about it this time,” she adds quickly because even though she trusts Penelope, she knows it merits being on the list of rules. </p><p>“There goes my group text with the blondes,” Penelope says with a whimsical sigh. Hope knows she’s joking, objectively, but she also wonders what the hell else Penelope talked to Lizzie and Jade about.  </p><p>“Are you — are you sleeping with anyone else?” Hope hates that her voice sounds so jealous, so wanting, but she needs to know. She needs to know if this is one-sided, if Penelope just wants to destroy and watch things fall apart, or if she needs to get an STD test because Penelope can’t keep it in her pants and doesn’t ask about the medical history of her conquests. </p><p>“What does that matter?” It doesn’t. There’s a hardness to Penelope’s voice. Hope knows it’s deserved. Out of the two of them, she’s the one who’s sleeping with other people. Person. She and Landon haven’t had sex in months of course, but that’s not really the point here. </p><p>“It might just be a good cover for you, for us.” Smooth Hope, so smooth. </p><p>“I’m not, Hope. No one has caught my eye recently,” Penelope admits and Hope can hear the way that she says with a raised eyebrow, a challenge. </p><p>“I — good,” Hope says and nods to herself, squinting in the sunlight. “Come over for dinner later,” she says quickly before she can stop herself. </p><p>“Are dinners allowed? That doesn’t seem to track with your whole idea of what a fuck buddy should be.” </p><p>“Are you my fuck buddy, Penelope?” </p><p>“I just said I enjoy fucking you. What else am I?” </p><p>“Well, we’re friends who both need to eat. And knowing you, you’re probably trying to conceal the fact that jet lag is kicking your ass and I can order us some takeout and you can fall asleep in front of the television.”</p><p>“You’re bending your no sleepover rule.”</p><p>“Bending, not breaking. It’s dinner, not an offer to move in.”</p><p>Penelope laughs. “Hey, I’m not the one with commitment issues. I’ll come over. But pick good takeout. I have standards.”</p><hr/><p>Penelope must have gone home to shower after work because she arrives at Hope’s house wearing leggings and a grey cable knit sweater, her face scrubbed free of makeup. </p><p>“Honey, I’m home,” she jokes as she kicks off her shoes when she comes inside and leans in almost as if she was going to kiss Hope hello on the cheek and then thinks better of it, sucking her lips in and biting them before looking away. </p><p>“I think I was promised dinner,” she says airly, running a hand through her hair as Hope stands there watching her, dressed in a pair of jeans and an oversized flannel. Hope raises an eyebrow as she closes the massive front door, holding back a laugh. </p><p>“So the way to your heart is f—” and then Hope catches herself before she turns on her heel, hoping that Penelope would follow her into the kitchen. She does and Hope doesn’t need wolf hearing to hear the way that Penelope inhales at the smell of pizza, bruschetta, and garlic breadsticks. </p><p>“I could seriously marry you,” Penelope states in awe, her mouth spread wide and Hope wasn’t wrong — the way to Penelope’s heart was clearly food, if her smile’s anything to go by as she opens up the two boxes of pizza — one with prosciutto and artichoke and the other a simple margherita with fresh buffalo mozzarella and basil. </p><p>“That might be against the rules,” Hope says with a shrug and Penelope ignores her, nearly moaning at the sight of the breadsticks, piling three on her plate that was already laden with a few slices of pizza and some bruschetta. </p><p>“You made the rules, missy,” Penelope reminds her and Hope just rolls her eyes as she directs Penelope into the living room. </p><p>“Can I trust you to eat without making a mess?” she jokes. </p><p>“That was one time, Hope,” Penelope groans, perching on Hope’s couch with her legs pulled up underneath her. Hope was, of course, referencing the time when they were both in college and Penelope and she had gone out for drinks one night during winter break and they had picked up late-night burritos. Penelope had clearly been more drunk than Hope had thought because they were sitting on this very same couch when Penelope went to go take a bite, the entire bottom of her burrito falling out and onto the seat. </p><p>“Luckily, I’m good with cleaning spells, like I told the phoenix,” Penelope retorts and Hope ignores the statement because she didn’t want to think about Landon. Didn’t want to remember the way she had shrugged off going to his place tonight by telling him that she was in her groove and working late. Whatever, it was a little white lie. </p><p>“Shut up and eat your pizza,” Hope tells her, but it lacks any bite. She turns the television on and Penelope steals the remote from her and somehow she finds Love Actually and Hope should really be upset at someone else eating pizza on her couch and making herself right at home, but she finds it impossible with Penelope. She even steals Hope’s crusts that Hope casually leaves on the edge of her plate, knowing Penelope liked them, and watches in amazement as Penelope takes both of their plates into the kitchen, placing them into the dishwasher. </p><p>When she comes back, she sits closer to Hope on the couch, who can’t complain in the slightest as Penelope rests her head on Hope’s shoulder because it's <em>nice </em>in a way that doesn’t feel suffocating. Even when she moves her arm around Penelope’s back and shoulder to let her snuggle in closer, Hope doesn’t feel like she wants to jump out of her skin the way she normally would with Landon, itching for him to leave and sleep in his own lumpy bed. </p><p>“Don’t you dare change it. This movie’s a classic,” Penelope says with her eyes closed and Hope looks over at her, freely able to unabashedly watch Penelope and that turns out to be the biggest mistake she's ever made. Because she couldn’t even change the channel if she tried - that would mean moving to grab the remote from where Penelope had deposited it on the coffee table and as it is, she has a very warm Penelope wrapped around her side, looking content and happy like this was the only place she wanted to be and maybe <span>— but Hope could never just assume that — </span> </p><p>“It’s May, Penelope.” </p><p>“It’s timeless.” </p><p>“Whatever you say, babe,” Hope replies automatically, the affectionate nickname rolling off of her tongue like her mouth had been made to speak those words out loud, to Penelope only. </p><p>“You hate pet names,” Penelope nearly whispers as she falls asleep. </p><p>“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” Hope whispers back. She holds up her free hand, waving toward the chest across the room and the top opens, a blanket flying out and settling over them. She watches the rest of the movie as Penelope dozes, her breathing evening out quite quickly and it’s peaceful and Hope feels completely and totally content. Brushing a kiss across Penelope’s forehead as she sleeps with her head on Hope’s chest, Hope feels her eyes closing as well as the television fades into the background. </p><p>She gets the best sleep she’s had in weeks. </p><p>Penelope’s gone when she wakes up the next morning, her phone’s alarm blaring underneath her where she had rolled over during the night. A note with a flower is propped up on the coffee table and Hope opens the crisp white paper to see <em> I was right - you do snore &lt;3 </em>in Penelope’s looping scrawl. Collapsing back on the couch for a moment, a smile overtaking her face, her phone beeps at her again with a text. </p><p>She grabs it, rubbing the sleep from her eyes to see a text from Lizzie: <em> A sleepover, Hope? We aren’t sixteen anymore.  </em></p><p>Hope texts her back quickly — <em> I have no idea what you’re talking about </em>— with her heart in her throat because Penelope’s car had to have been outside of her house all night and she had definitely shattered her rule about sleepovers into a thousand tiny pieces. </p><p><em> Relax, Mikaelson </em>comes the reply, followed a second later by a text from Jade in their group text saying: <em> Lizzie’s just jealous we weren’t invited. We haven’t seen Penelope in two weeks either!  </em></p><p>Phew, okay, so, they didn’t know anything. Good. Great. Wonderful. </p><p>She ignores the tinge of hope that she felt, just for a second. Maybe everything out in the open would have been better. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The blondes are somehow able to convince Hope and Penelope to meet them at the Mexican restaurant in town for dinner and drinks that same night. Their texts had been insistent after the whole sleepover debacle and Hope's also maybe secretly excited to see Penelope again so soon. </p><p>Hope’s the last to arrive, mostly because she hadn’t wanted to seem <em>that </em>eager, and had said that she was dreading going in a text to Penelope who had replied with a photo of red lips and a lacy black bra and really, Hope was powerless to do anything but groan and grab her keys. </p><p>She slides into the booth next to Penelope, who grins at her with a wink before the waitress joins them, smiling at Hope. </p><p>“Now that you’re girlfriend’s here, y’all ready to order?” the waitress begins as Lizzie’s jaw drops and Hope says, <em> “Excuse me?!” </em> </p><p>“Oh, I’m so sorry,  I shouldn’t have assumed! Y’all just looked like you were on a double date. I mean, these two are here constantly,” the waitress amends, pointing at Lizzie and Jade. Lizzie just shrugs as Jade examines her fingernails and mumbles something about liking the salsa. </p><p>“We’re not — she’s not —” Hope says lamely, gesturing between herself and Penelope who just opens up the menu in front of her before closing it swiftly. </p><p>“I’ll take the southwest salad with dressing on the side and she’ll have the al pastor street tacos with the pickled onions on the side and I think we’re going to need tequila. Lots of it. Maybe with some lime,” Penelope smiles brightly as she finishes, passing both her and Hope’s menus to the waitress and then pauses to look at Hope before she props her elbow up on the top of the booth, her head in her hand. </p><p>Hope watches her mutely before she glances between Lizzie and Jade who aren’t paying them any mind and then back to Penelope, a black blazer on her small frame with a black tank top underneath. Hope can barely make out the lace that was teasing her in the photo earlier and she licks her lips unconsciously. </p><p>“You can’t just order for me,” she whispers in Penelope’s ear, dipping her head low to make the statement which was a dumb fucking idea because now all she can smell is Penelope’s perfume. She takes a shuddering breath in, exhaling slowly and feeling her head grow heavy. </p><p>“You seemed at a loss for words. Take it as a compliment, <em> babe,</em>” Penelope says quietly, rubbing at a nonexistent smudge on Hope’s chin, right below her lip, with her thumb. </p><p>Hope smacks her hand away, growling the word, “Boundaries,” which merits yet another smirk from Penelope because the way Hope was leaning towards her suggested that her body was very much not in agreement with her head. </p><p>It’s not like Jade and Lizzie are going to notice, with how wrapped up they are in each other, and Penelope makes it hard to maintain any boundaries at all. It’s also not like they’re going to suspect that Hope is cheating on Landon with Penelope. That’s not who she’s supposed to be after all. She’s meant to be the hero, the savior. A good person. </p><p>Right on cue, four shots of tequila arrive, and Hope silently thanks all of the gods above that she’s saved from the conversation that she really doesn’t want to have about proper fuck buddy etiquette with Penelope. </p><p>“Cheers!” Lizzie says loudly, ending the staring match that was ongoing between Hope and Penelope that Hope was sure would end in her doing something stupid, like kissing Penelope senseless. She clinks her shot glass with Lizzie and Jade before knocking back the drink and it burns all down her throat and into her stomach. Snatching a lime off of the small plate, Hope bites into the fruit and swallows the juice quickly. </p><p>The sting of the alcohol and the lime feel strangely soothing. </p><p>“So, Pen, tell us about Singapore,” Jade says as Lizzie casually slings her arm over Jade’s shoulder. Hope signals to the waitress for another round of shots and receives a wink in return. </p><p>“Oh, it was nothing. Ten days of meetings and then we finally broke them. They always break, in the end. And my team and I celebrated and I got on the first flight back. Just another day in the office, Lizzie.” </p><p>“So, nothing interesting? No girls...or guys that caught your eye?” Lizzie probes. </p><p>Hope chokes on the drink and Penelope pats her back before turning back to Lizzie. “Mmm, I wasn’t looking. I needed to be on my A-game for this one. Mom had briefed me <em> extensively </em>about this deal so I went in there and made it happen and uh, celebrated after.” </p><p>“There we go,” Jade grins. </p><p>Hope proceeds to get drunk. Or as drunk as she can manage when the alcohol isn’t made by witches the way it normally is at her favorite bar in New Orleans. The food comes along with a massive plate of chips and guacamole for the table and Penelope snags a chip off of the top of the pile, biting into it with a flourish that nearly makes Hope moan at the sight. </p><p>Self-control. Hope should acquire some. </p><p>“So! No pigeon for you tonight?” Lizzie teases and Hope narrows her eyes at the blonde before sighing. </p><p>“Obviously not, since he isn’t here,” Hope says and Penelope sips on her water quietly, avoiding her eyes. </p><p>“You can do better,” Lizzie says and the look Jade gives her girlfriend is almost enough to quiet the words on the tip of Hope’s tongue. </p><p>“So you’ve been telling me for years,” Hope says dryly. </p><p>“And I’m not wrong,” Lizzie points out, downing another shot of tequila. “Besides, Josie says he was a boring kisser.”</p><p>“Can we avoid any and all conversation of the bird’s mating habits?” Penelope cuts in sharply.</p><p>Jade laughs, turning Lizzie’s head to kiss her. “You’re drunk, babe.”</p><p>Hope gets up then on shaky legs and mumbles something about the restroom and a margarita, stomping away from the booth. She shouldn’t be surprised when Penelope follows her, grabbing her hand as Hope shoves open the bathroom door.</p><p>The kiss is all teeth and tongue and Penelope tastes like salt and limes as she backs Hope up against the bathroom door, flicking the lock with her free hand as the other roams over the small of Hope’s back to pull her into her as she presses her to the door. Hope can’t focus on anything but the kiss, even though Penelope’s lips on hers and last night feels like centuries away from where they are now because last night was about comfort and familiarity and this is about conquest and passion and lust. </p><p>Hope wants to rip off Penelope’s blazer but she refrains, biting and tugging at Penelope’s bottom lip before she shoves her away from her. </p><p>“They’ll be suspicious. They already are,” she states calmly as Penelope gives her a foot or two of breathing room. She leans over the sink in the bathroom, her chest heaving as she washes her shaking hands. Penelope just leans against the door, her arms over her chest, watching Hope in the mirror. Their eyes hold and lock and Hope blinks before looking down, scrubbing her hands furiously. </p><p>“Lizzie and Jade are harmless and they love you. They’ll be happy that you’re finally getting some,” Penelope teases. </p><p>Hope tries to shove past her but Penelope’s hand circles around her upper arm and she spins in the hold, their lips meeting in another kiss that Hope could feel all the way from her hazy mind to her toes, her lips tingling as she nearly trips out of the bathroom, wiping her lower lip with her thumb and tasting Penelope. </p><p>The night passes in a comfortable haze after that and as they wave to Lizzie and Jade who had decided to walk home following all of the tequila, Hope wonders if it was smart that she got so drunk. Because Penelope's next to her, overwhelming her senses and she can’t think clearly from the alcohol and from Penelope, her presence and attention something she’s beginning to crave like breathing. </p><p>Penelope pulls them to the side of the restaurant and she kisses Hope up against the brick wall. Hope melts into the feeling and the kisses are nothing like those earlier. Penelope is slower now, the drinks making her movements linger as she grips at Hope’s hips, fingers warm enough to burn against Hope’s shirt as it rides up. </p><p>“Come with me,” she breathes, tugging on Hope’s hand. </p><p>They fuck in the backseat of Penelope’s car in the parking lot and Hope palms at the roof as she rides Penelope’s hand, Penelope’s face buried in her chest, kissing and biting at her breasts. </p><p>“I could get so lost in you if I’m not careful,” Penelope breathes later, after Hope had come all over her hand, her breath warm on Hope’s lips. Hope swallows the words, swallows down the feeling that has wrapped around her because this is so temporary and fleeting and one wrong step could make everything crash and burn all around them. </p><p>“You’re always careful,” she points out and ignores how stilted her own voice sounds. </p><p>Penelope laughs, a little dry, maybe, pressing a quick kiss to Hope’s lips. She doesn’t say anything. </p><p>Hope walks home after she’s able to piece herself back together because Penelope had broken her apart so damn well with her lips and her hands and her tongue. She breathes in the warm air, savoring the impending arrival of summer, her hands in the pocket of her jeans. Inspiration bubbles to the surface, even in the afterglow of Penelope and the relatively pleasant dinner with Jade and Lizzie, and when she arrives home, she tosses on an old jazz album and lets the music waft through the house as she quickly ascends the staircase to her studio. </p><p>She works through the night, falling asleep just as the sun comes up on the beat-up sofa that sits in her studio, covered in paint and not minding a bit, and sleeps through the day, only waking when her phone interrupts her deep sleep. She really needed to put it on silent. Penelope’s name lights up the screen and Hope shakes her head to clear the thoughts of the very vivid dream she was having. </p><p>“H-hello?” </p><p>“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Penelope says with far too much glee. The words caress Hope’s ears and she almost feels embarrassed about it. </p><p>“Are you stalking me now?” Hope asks, still far too tired for this conversation. </p><p>“You have a tired voice, Mikaelson. It’s cute.” </p><p>“I have no such thing.”</p><p>“You do. And like I said, it’s cute.” </p><p>“Did you miss me, Penelope?” </p><p>“Of course not,” the witch replies quickly, too quickly, and Hope just smiles, settling deeper into the sofa. “You should — you should come over if you want. We could eat dinner —” </p><p>“Which is against the rules.” </p><p>“Your rules, not mine, my dear. Just tell Landon you’re going out for a run,” Penelope laughs into the phone and Hope can hear the sound of a zipper. She unconsciously wets her lips. “That way when you’re all flushed when you get home, you’ll have cover.” Penelope pauses and Hope sits up, running a hand through her hair. “I <em>am</em> tempted to start without you,” Penelope adds casually, and Hope doesn’t need wolf hearing to know that she’s shimmying out of her too-tight pencil skirt, cradling the phone with her shoulder to her ear to unbutton her blouse. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>“That’s the idea,” Penelope says with another low laugh and Hope realizes she’s spoken out loud. “I’ll see you in ten.” </p><p>Hope hangs up the phone then, changing into a pair of leggings and a tank top before throwing a hoodie over her shirt. She trips as she pulls on her running shoes and makes sure to grab her keys and phone on the way out. She sticks to side streets and avoids the major roads in Mystic Falls and makes it to Penelope’s place in eight minutes. It’s — her life is no one else’s business. Especially not the rest of the town's. After a few agonizing moments waiting at the front door, Penelope opens it, still fully dressed with a smug expression on her face. </p><p>“You asshole,” Hope grins and Penelope just laughs, crooking her index finger at Hope with a raised eyebrow, beckoning her closer before turning away from the door with a flourish, pulling her blouse out of her skirt then with her back to Hope, who nearly kicks the door closed with the speed at which she enters Penelope’s place. </p><p>Hope’s on her in seconds and it’s almost comical how wet she is when Penelope spins in her arms, grabbing at her hips when Hope backs her up into the back of the couch, perching Penelope on it. Hope’s phone with its annoying ringtone that only plays when Landon calls (the theme to the Avengers) breaks through the heavy-breathing and the touch of Penelope's lips against hers, and Hope sighs loudly, taking a step back from Penelope before she answers. </p><p>“Hello?” </p><p>“Hey, babe! Wanna grab some dinner?” Landon asks and he sounds like he’s just leaving work, walking back to his apartment. “I can stop by in an hour and we can go check out that burger place that just opened up?” Penelope sits as primly as she can on the back of her couch, her legs crossing and uncrossing and even though her blouse is open, exposing a white lace bra, she looks every bit as put together as she always does.</p><p>Hope steps forward then, spreading Penelope’s knees as far as she can, inching Penelope’s skirt up higher on her thighs to spread them wider. Penelope palms a hand at the hem of Hope’s top, fingers playing with the material. Hope raises an eyebrow, a silent question as Penelope’s fingers skate along the top of the waistband of her pants. Penelope stares back at her, as if bored, her fingers dipping lower down Hope’s stomach. Hope silently prays that her shift in breathing wasn’t noticeable to Landon. </p><p>“Um, give — uh, yeah, that works. I’m just — I’m in the middle of something — I mean, I’m on a run, so I’ll meet you there, then.” </p><p>“Okay, sure. See you soon! Love you.” </p><p>“You too!” Hope replies, ending the call and tossing the phone onto Penelope’s couch. “You don’t play fair,” she sighs when Penelope walks her fingers lower. </p><p>“You knew that about me. This isn’t breaking news,” Penelope grabs Hope’s shirt then, yanking to pull Hope toward her, wrapping her legs around her. </p><p>“We should stop,” Hope says against her lips but Penelope just grabs Hope’s face with her hands, her teeth biting and pulling Hope’s bottom lips to tear any words away from her. </p><p>“We should,” Penelope agrees, even as her hands make quick work of Hope’s tank top. “But maybe not tonight?” Hope can hear the want, the pleading in her question, and knows that it’s reflecting in her own eyes as she gazes at Penelope.</p><p>Because they both want this. They both want each other. </p><p>Hope knows it needs to end, knows she’s right, even as she dips her head to kiss down Penelope’s neck, grabbing her by her thighs to walk them back to Penelope’s bedroom. Penelope wasn’t lying, it seems, about starting without her, Hope notices, as she sets Penelope down on her bed. A dildo lay on the bedside table next to a vibrator and the sight of it makes Hope weak in the knees. Suddenly, her leggings feel too tight and all she wants to do is get Penelope naked as fast as possible and take all the time she doesn’t have to unravel her. </p><p>Hope steps out of her leggings, pulling her sports bra over her head and tossing it behind her as she yanks and pulls Penelope to the edge of the bed, standing between her legs. She tears at Penelope’s skirt, not caring that it probably cost more than three of her paintings combined. Penelope's watching her, back arched and nipples straining against the sheer lace of her bra. </p><p>“Do you want me or the toys?” Hope asks, knows her eyes are dangerously close to flashing amber and gold because everything in her body screams at her to take and take and take while Penelope lays still, silently observing as her tongue moves along her lower lip. </p><p>“You. Always you,” she responds and Hope falls over her, moving quickly down Penelope’s body as she trails kisses along her stomach. Her hand grabs and twists at Penelope’s nipple in her poor excuse for a bra. She pulls one of Penelope’s legs over her back as she drops kisses along her inner thighs. Penelope’s breathing changes then and Hope glances up to see Penelope watching her, eyes dark. </p><p>“Well, get on with it,” she teases, her voice low and breaking, hand cupping at Hope’s cheek before nails dig into her scalp and run through her hair to direct Hope to her center. </p><p>Hope wastes no time, knows she’s on the clock and she plunges two fingers inside of Penelope without any further preamble. She licks a long line up, ending at her clit, and swirls her tongue around, feeling Penelope clench as she curls her fingers in and out. She gets lost in the feelings and the sound all around her — Penelope’s breathing, the slight whimper every few thrusts, the words <em>babe </em>and <em>yes </em>falling from her lips. </p><p>Penelope comes with a low groan when Hope adds a third finger, her right hand still in Hope’s hair, holding her at Penelope’s waist and Hope kisses her inner thighs, her hips, her stomach as she moves back up Penelope’s body. </p><p>“Mmm,” is all Penelope says before swinging a leg over Hope’s hips, shoving the tribrid on her back. “I like you like this.” </p><p>“Under you?” Hope teases back, her chest rising as falling as Penelope gazes down her, her hands ghosting over Hope’s neck and collarbones fingers dancing along skin. </p><p>“Pensive and waiting,” Penelope replies, and even as she had rushed Hope on minutes before, she seems content to take her time now, which Hope doesn’t seem to mind. Because, yeah, the orgasms are important, but there’s something intoxicating about Penelope coming apart underneath her hands, feeling her still wet against her stomach. </p><p>“Well, get on with it then,” Hope echoes Penelope’s words from before and dark green eyes swirl before they close and Penelope ducks her head down, taking one of Hope’s nipples into her mouth with a bite. Hope arches her back then, breathing hard through her mouth and the pain as Penelope’s tongue laves over the swollen bud. </p><p>She moves quickly then, as if her mind’s been made up and Hope feels teeth and tongue and warmth spreading all over her chest and stomach before coming back up to Hope’s lips to capture them in a searing kiss. Penelope tastes like cinnamon and oranges and sweat and Hope wants to drink it in as she feels an exploratory finger swipe through her center. She grinds into the feeling, spreading her legs and moaning into Penelope’s mouth as the witch’s finger moves around her clit and back through her soaked folds before going inside of her. Hope bites at Penelope’s tongue at the sensation and she feels a laugh escape from Penelope’s throat. </p><p>Hope grips Penelope’s neck with one hand, the other clenched in the sheets and Penelope moves relentlessly, Hope’s back arching with each thrust. </p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” Penelope breathes against her lips and Hope opens her eyes at that, watching Penelope watch her. She can’t help it. She gets lost in Penelope’s eyes even when they aren’t together like this and now, looking at her, she sees so much in the jade depths. Passion, lust, other words she can’t and won’t name. Hope kisses her again then, if only to prevent her from saying the wrong thing, from saying something stupid and foolish, and Penelope picks up her pace, their chests heaving together. </p><p>Hope moans loudly when she comes, nearly crying out Penelope’s name. She has to grip hard on Penelope’s arm to get her to stop, which earns a laugh from the brunette, who drops down next to her on her stomach. Hope licks her lips, eyes closed and her heart rate returning to normal before she turns to Penelope. Who’s watching her again, almost serenely.   </p><p>“The bird will be wondering where you are,” is all she says, face an unreadable mask and Hope just nods, kissing her shoulder before she wills her legs to move again, to get out of bed when all she wants to do is stay by Penelope’s side all night long. </p><p>“I — you’re, you’re right. I should go.” Hope swings her legs over the edge and nearly gasps when she feels Penelope move behind her, her head coming to rest over her shoulder and her arms wrapping around her waist. </p><p>“You can come back later, you know,” she offers and Hope has to laugh because it’s been two days of rules and they’ve broken nearly all of them already. </p><p>“Maybe,” she replies, tugging on her clothes and kissing Penelope goodbye. It hurts some deep part of Hope’s heart to leave her in bed alone, looking the way she does, stretched out and calm, eyes dancing up and down Hope’s body before Hope tells herself that she needs to go, that she’s probably already late. She feels guilty because of Landon and some rational distant part of her knows that what she’s doing is terribly wrong, but looking at Penelope, kissing Penelope, it never feels that way. </p><p>She goes home, still in her running clothes, and showers as fast as she can. She gets dressed and kisses Landon on the cheek when he shows up and they go out and as she eats her burger, listening to him drone on about something unimportant. All the while, she wonders when all the parts of her life without Penelope started feeling this bland and grey. </p><p>When Landon invites her over, she tells him that she was up all night painting and wants to catch up on much-needed sleep. Which isn’t technically a lie. He’s understanding, probably too understanding, but she’s always been closed off, especially about her work, so he gets it when she’s like this before a big show. </p><p>She knows she should feel bad when Penelope’s door opens at her knock and Penelope’s standing there, leaning against the doorframe, looking surprised. But the smile and slight blush on her face is infectious and Hope raises an eyebrow as she steps in, letting the door close behind her.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She throws herself into her work the night after giving into Penelope, returning home, and refusing to leave her studio. She responds to Landon’s texts and calls (sometimes) and has to remind herself to eat every day, only leaving her studio long enough to grab a bowl of cereal before hurrying back up the stairs. Her texts and calls from Penelope go mostly unanswered. She knows she’s overcompensating — ignoring her life for the sake of tossing herself into her art. Ignoring Penelope. Ignoring Landon. Ignoring the emotions that have taken root in her chest like unwanted weeds. Weeds she’s afraid to get rid of for fear of losing more than just feelings. Of losing herself. Of losing everything she’s built. </p><p>Penelope’s phone calls by the fifth day are less frequent. But by the sixth day, Penelope seems to have taken it upon herself to make sure that Hope is alive and not going hungry, even if Hope won’t respond to her calls and texts, and delivery boys keep showing up on her porch with gourmet take out. Landon stops by on occasion, letting himself in and hovering by the doorway. Hope kisses him on the cheek almost robotically, answering in short bursts, but he knows how she gets when she’s like this, and she also knows that he absolutely hates it, but she feels so close to <em>something </em>that she can’t just abandon it now, even if it is to eat or shower or sleep. </p><p>On day eight, he says something about going away for the weekend and she listens to it half-heartedly, nodding and humming in agreement. His kiss goodbye is fleeting and she barely remembers hearing her front door close. </p><p>After he’s left, she doesn’t put the paintbrush down for another hour, when realization sets in and she reaches for her phone. The time on the screen tells her that it’s nearly seven in the evening and she definitely skipped breakfast and lunch. Again.  </p><p>“Landon’s gone for the weekend. He’ll be back Monday night,” Hope says, nearly breathless when Penelope picks up her phone. Hope knows she’s still at the office, no doubt hunched over her chair watching the markets opening on the other side of the world. </p><p>“You wanna get out of Mystic Falls? We could drive to my parent’s lake house. It’s deep in the forest and has a great view of the water and the surrounding area and, you know, there’s that,” Penelope pauses, taking a breath, “but then we could also choose not to leave the bedroom.” She doesn’t miss a beat, the words spilling out of her mouth in a rush and Hope has to smile into her phone, hoping she can hide it in her voice. </p><p>“Then what’s the point of leaving Mystic Falls if we don’t see anything?” she teases. </p><p>“I thought you might be tired of sneaking around. I’m no fan of the pigeon, but —” Penelope pauses and Hope inhales sharply. This was unchartered territory for them. They had always skirted around this topic because cheating is cheating and even with Penelope, framing it as such would taint everything that they are. But what are they — stolen moments and lies? Illusions wrapped around each other because the hard truth is that Hope hasn’t been in love with Landon for months? Years? </p><p>“Don’t you ever just want to get away for a bit? I could hold your hand in public.” Penelope’s words are innocuous and far too tender for what things that they'd become fond of doing with each other and to each other. Things that they haven’t done in over a week, thanks to Hope and her sudden burst of creativity. </p><p>“You say that as if you want to hold my hand in public, Penelope.” </p><p>“There’s a whole host of things I would love to do to you in public. Some of them are legal.” </p><p>Hope inhales and nods to herself, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Yeah — yes.” She decides instantly. This makes her a horrible person, doesn’t it? Just how fast she’s willing to throw everything under the bus for Penelope, but can barely spare a glance for her own boyfriend. She’ll ponder it another time. “When can we leave?” </p><p>“Tonight?” Penelope offers and Hope hears her shifting around papers and other rustling, a sigh escaping her lips as Hope imagines her standing and stretching in front of her desk. She enjoys the image her brain creates. “I’ll drive us,” Penelope adds. </p><p>Penelope pulls up to her place an hour later, looking every bit as ready for the retreat in a pair of jeans and black jacket, a white tank-top underneath. Hope runs her hands through her hair a few times and hopes that the quick shower she took was enough to wash over a week’s worth of paint from her body. Tossing her bag into the very large SUV that Hope knows doesn’t belong to the brunette, Penelope just shrugs as she closes Hope’s door, winking before she races around the front of the car to the driver’s side. </p><p>“It’s Mom’s,” she says simply when she gets in and presses the button for ignition. “The roads up by the cabin aren’t — well, they’re not very kind to my car.” </p><p>“Are you taking me someplace to murder me?” Hope jokes as she watches Penelope insert an address that was nearly four hours away. Hope then proceeds to flip through the pre-programmed channels on the radio, stopping when she gets to something vaguely pop-sounding. </p><p>“Yes, that’s exactly what all this has been about. You caught me,” Penelope responds dryly and Hope just laughs, settling deeper into the passenger seat as she buckles her seatbelt. Her voice is hoarse from disuse and she feels weight lifting off of her shoulders just being around Penelope.  </p><p>Penelope reaches over at some point as they drive deeper into Virginia, grabbing and holding Hope’s hand. Hope drifts off shortly after that, the past eight days catching up with her and it’s only when she hears gravel crunching under the tires that she jolts awake. </p><p>“Sorry,” she whispers to Penelope, who is sipping on a cup of coffee that was definitely not there when they started their drive, balancing it on the steering wheel with her free hand. There’s a to-go cup with her name on it in the cup holder closest to her, a smiley face on one side. Penelope brings their clasped hands to her lips, warming Hope’s fingers with a lingering kiss. </p><p>“While I was afraid that you thought my company was utterly horrible and would rather sleep, I think maybe you needed that nap,” Penelope says glancing over at her. She keeps the car heading forward on a small driveway, the trees hugging the tiny, dark road. The cabin slowly comes into view in front of them, nestled against a lake behind it and Hope feels all traces of tiredness wash away from her. Of course, Penelope’s family would have a place like this, buried deep in the trees and away from the rest of civilization. A porch wraps around the front and sides and the porch lights are on already and it looks — it looks amazing. </p><p>“Why haven’t we ever been here before?” Hope asks quietly as Penelope stops the car. She says nothing as she hops out, joining Hope to grab their bags. A swipe of her thumb along Hope’s cheek comes away golden and she smiles before glancing up at the cabin. It looks imposing and inviting and it’s a mess of contradictions and of course, it would perfectly complement Penelope’s outfit. Penelope bites her lip, her expression clouding for a moment. </p><p>“Hmm, I don’t know. I’ve never brought anyone here,” the witch shrugs, setting off to the front door. Her key slides into the lock without effort and Penelope pushes the door open, guiding Hope into a large foyer that bleeds into a massive living room that dominates the ground floor, an even larger kitchen off to the side. Hope’s not even sure she could actually call it a cabin. Everything looks brand new and sparkling and the wood seems to shine and the stainless steel appliances reflect the moonlight off of the water. It’s breathtaking. </p><p>Hope glances around quickly, taking in the fresh bouquet of flowers on a large dining room table, a stone fireplace that was taking up the entirety of one massive wall, a fire burning in the grate, and exposed beams everywhere. She sees a large leather couch and a coffee table, and an honest to god bearskin rug. </p><p>“Want to see the view?” Penelope asks, grabbing Hope’s hand and pulling her toward her. Hope collides with Penelope’s body and she wants to sink into it, the warmth enveloping her in an instant. She gets a heady rush from Penelope’s perfume and shampoo washing over her.  </p><p>“Is this the part where you say that the view is beautiful but you’re actually looking at me?” Hope teases and Penelope just smiles, leaning down to capture Hope’s lips in a soft kiss. Hope pulls away slowly, dizzy from the feeling of Penelope in her arms once more. </p><p>“Mmm, not quite,” Penelope shakes her head, reaching behind Hope into one of the antique trunks beside the massive couch to pull out a fleece blanket, wrapping it around herself.  </p><p>Pulling Hope with her, she walks them to the back doors facing the lake and they walk out onto the porch that really did wrap around from the front of the cabin. Hope settles in front of Penelope, who drapes the blanket around them both, her arms wrapping around Hope. Hope can feel Penelope’s heart beating into her back, strong and sure and a bit fast. Turning to tease the witch, Penelope turns her back to face forward, clutching her tighter, and Hope nearly sighs in contentment. She feels warm, happy, stable, and safe in Penelope’s arms. It’s almost too perfect. Almost too good.  </p><p>“Look, Hope,” she says quietly, her breath tickling Hope’s ear. </p><p>“It’s gorgeous, Penelope,” she says, and it is. It’s almost like a scene out of a fairytale and the lake is so still that it mirrors the night sky, sprinkled with thousands of tiny stars. Hope decides not to fight it, swaying in Penelope’s arms as they stand, the sound of silence all around them and their hearts beating in tandem. </p><p>“Not as gorgeous as you,” Penelope says, and Hope can hear the smirk in her voice because she sounds like she's echoing words from a Lifetime movie. She tries to turn again in Penelope’s arms, and this time the brunette lets her. Hope crashes their lips together, throwing her arms around Penelope’s neck, breathing her in. She tastes like coffee and peppermint and another taste that is <em>so </em> Penelope and feels so much like home. </p><p>Hope’s very acutely and painfully aware of each passing moment, even as the sunshine wakes them up the next morning, promising a gorgeous day on the lake. Penelope pulls her out of bed at half-past eleven and Hope watches her dance around the kitchen to classic rock, serenading Hope quite poorly as she makes them french toast. Hope hasn’t glanced at her phone once since they had arrived late the night before and doesn’t even feel the need to. She’s exactly where she wants to be.</p><p>Not that it would show her anything of note — the cell service out here's next to nothing, but something about the location and the look on Penelope’s face when she glanced at Hope over the rim of her coffee mug makes Hope want to soak up as much of the uninterrupted time with Penelope as she can. </p><p>Before reality crashes back again. Because it will. It’s an ugly inevitability. But for now, the world is reduced to her and Penelope, alone, in the middle of the woods. Hope could seriously get used to this. </p><p>Penelope drags her on a walk around the lake after their brunch, finishing their loop by sprinting to an old dock and pulling off her tank top and shorts, diving headfirst into the water. Droplets cling to her eyelashes as she yells for Hope to get in, her mirth palpable and Hope can do nothing but strip down to her bikini and follow Penelope in. </p><p>They stumble back to the cabin later, tangled in each other and collapsing on the king-sized bed. Hope’s heart pounds in her ears as Penelope tugs down her swim bottoms, hands cold from the water despite the heat that Hope knows she’s radiating from head to toe, her nerves tingling under Penelope’s hands. </p><p>Penelope, who has always delighted in tearing Hope’s clothes off, takes her time now, eyes darkening as more skin is revealed and Hope watches her chest rise and fall. </p><p>“You’re so beautiful, Hope Mikaelson,” Penelope whispers, almost in awe and reverence. Hope thinks she should say something back, her voice caught in her throat because this is too much and not enough. Hope doesn’t do much more thinking after that, once Penelope’s hands find their way between her legs and they stay in bed far too long, leaving the luxury of the thousand thread-count sheets to eat leftover omelet from the morning that Penelope had somehow thought to make on a whim. </p><p>Sunday follows much the same routine and after another gourmet breakfast from the fridge that is far too stocked for a spur of the moment retreat and a swim in the lake that ends with a makeout session against the dock before Penelope dunks Hope and swims off, Hope finds herself nodding off with her head in Penelope’s lap as the witch reads a tattered book that she had pulled out of her bag at some point, refusing to show Hope the cover. Her fingers make their way lazily through Hope’s hair, the touch grounding, and it’s almost intimate and familiar and Hope knows it’s definitely not something that should turn her on but when Penelope’s fingers skate over the skin behind her ear, she feels her stomach swoop. </p><p>There’s something entirely too comforting about Penelope’s presence, away from everything else. It’s all-encompassing. </p><p>They wander out to an old diner in a town near the cabin for dinner and Penelope fulfills her promise of holding Hope’s hand in public, swinging their clasped hands between their bodies as they walk down the main drag, her lips wrapping around the top of her vanilla ice cream cone as it threatens to drip down her hand. Hope’s reluctant to let the night end as Penelope drives them back to the cabin, knowing the morning brings the long trip back to Mystic Falls. Back to reality. Back to everything. </p><p>She wakes up to the sunrise streaming through the curtains because even though they were black-out curtains and Penelope was less than a morning person, they hadn’t closed them the night before. Taking the opportunity to pull out a sketchbook and document this moment, lest it turns out to be all a dream, Hope quickly traces the contours of Penelope’s face and the slope of her arms with a charcoal pencil, following her neck and back underneath the covers. The light was hitting her just right, trailing in lines across her skin, and she looked absolutely peaceful. </p><p>Sketch completed, Hope abandons the pad and quietly slips back into bed, trailing kisses down Penelope’s sternum (thank god she hadn’t worn a shirt to bed) to her stomach, hitting the waistband of the too-small sleep shorts that she was wearing. A gasp and Penelope’s legs open wider and Hope knows Penelope can’t feign sleep any longer and she kisses the inside of her thighs, pulling down the shorts and watching Penelope kick them to the floor. Hope runs a finger through her folds then, blazing a trail up and down and coating it with warm heat before she moves inside of Penelope.</p><p>Hope feels a hand linger on her jaw as she kisses Penelope’s stomach and Penelope moves against her, nails scratching down Hope’s back, digging in and Hope wishes Penelope could scratch her, mark her as her own. It’s as if Penelope’s holding onto her, as if it would all end after today. Every touch feels like it's lingering, every kiss to Penelope’s skin is too long and darkness hovers around them both. Hope crawls upward and feels Penelope’s broken breaths against her lips as they breathe each other’s air. Penelope’s eyes are dark, filled with lust and passion and hunger for Hope. </p><p>Penelope surprises her then, her hands moving lightning fast as she grips Hope’s hip with one hand, her other hand plunging into Hope’s sweatpants, and Hope moans loudly, sucking on Penelope’s bottom lip before her teeth find their home in the long column of Penelope’s neck. They move against each other, both giving and taking, reveling in the feeling. This weekend had been an exploration of each other’s bodies and Hope knew she had yet to uncover every secret of Penelope. She had mapped every muscle and bone, every freckle and mole, and yet there was more, always more. She knows she needs to savor, to overindulge, to hold these memories as the weekend fades from view. </p><p>Hope feels Penelope’s body pulling her in, beckoning her deeper and she moves against her, her hips canting against Penelope’s hand. She bites down then, not afraid to leave a mark, her mark, on Penelope. Tipping each other over the edge after what feels like hours, they shudder and break together and Hope comes with a strangled cry that’s smothered by Penelope’s lips, her breaths sacrificed to the kiss. She feels exposed like this, vulnerable in a way she never has before as the senses overtake her. Passion, excitement, contentment. Words that have no place here in these stolen moments. </p><p>Hope pulls her fingers out of Penelope after the climax passes, Penelope’s body pulsing at her hand and Penelope lays back on the pillow now, her chest heaving, satisfaction spreading across her face. Hope drops to her side, running a hand through her hair with a laugh. </p><p>“What?” Penelope asks, licking her lips and glancing over, her eyes half-open in the haze of the afterglow. </p><p>“You,” Hope says simply. </p><p>“What about me, Hope Mikaelson?” </p><p>“You surprise me,” she allows herself to say, reserving the other words for herself. For everything unspoken that is piled between them. </p><p>“Mmm,” is all the response she gets. Hope kisses her again, breathing Penelope in for a moment too long, a moment she tries to memorize before she’s up and departing into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. </p><p>“I don’t understand why you always insist on showering alone after,” Penelope observes sometime later, watching Hope as she sits before the vanity in the bedroom. Penelope is sprawled out naked on the bed, hasn’t moved in the time that Hope has been in the shower, the sheets kicked to the floor as she lay on her stomach, her head in her left hand. She’s studying Hope again, and Hope is sure she’ll never tire of Penelope’s eyes on her — less hungry now, but not lacking any of the intensity. </p><p>“It gives me time to think. It’s <em> quiet </em>— something you struggle with.” </p><p>“I can be very quiet, Hope.” </p><p>“I’m sure you can,” Hope laughs, grabbing a perfume out of her bag that Penelope had never seen before. She sprays it on herself and tosses it back in. A beat later, Hope sees the wheels turning in Penelope’s head, her eyes narrowed.  </p><p>“What’s that perfume?” she observes, sitting up against the headboard now. </p><p>“It’s nothing —” Hope counters quickly. “I — Landon got it for me a couple of weeks ago.” </p><p>“You don’t normally smell like that,” Penelope says slowly. </p><p>“You hate it,” Hope says simply. Penelope gets up then, padding to the bathroom quickly, her arms crossed over her chest. Her very naked chest. Hope wills her eyes to stay on Penelope’s and not travel a handful of inches down south. She fails. Miserably. </p><p>“It’s fine. It’s just — it’s not <em>you. </em>You want me to drop you off at his place, then?” She opens the glass door to the shower with more force than Hope thinks warrants the situation, turning the tap on without waiting for a response. Hope watches the steam obscure the glass separating them, wondering if a chasm was forming between them. If it had always been there. If this weekend was just delaying the inevitable destruction of everything. </p><p>They lock up the cabin an hour later, grabbing breakfast and coffee on the way. Penelope hasn’t said much since her shower and Hope glances over at her, sighing deeply. The witch finally relents as they get back on the highway, reaching across the center console to grab Hope’s hand, bringing it to her lips in her own version of an apology. </p><p>“Thank you for coming with me,” she says quietly, not taking her eyes off of the road. The sad smile that she wears on her lips looks sincere and Hope can only nod, rendered momentarily speechless. </p><p>She swallows back too many emotions and barely makes out, “Thank you for inviting me.” </p><p>Ceasefire commenced, they’re able to talk about inconsequential things on the drive back and Hope swears she sees a smile on Penelope’s lips every time they pass a farm with horses roaming freely. </p><p>“So,” Hope says, biting the inside of her cheek and chewing away all the words she wants to say.  “Do you have a busy week?” </p><p>“I always do,” Penelope responds, and Hope nods, instantly regretting the idea the moment that popped into her head. But now that it’s in there, she can’t just — she can’t forget it. </p><p>“Come over tomorrow night. I don’t care how late it is,” Hope offers, and the scoff that breaks Penelope’s lips is enough of a sign that it’s a terrible idea. </p><p>“Your rules are <em> really </em> going out the door, aren’t they?” </p><p>“Rules are made to be broken. This is me being consistent,” Hope assures her, but there’s a small butterfly of hope that’s flying around her chest. </p><p>“I’ll be there,” is all Penelope says, and the butterfly insides Hope’s chest multiplies. Hope squashes it.</p><p>This is what it is. Sex. An affair. She’s not going to end up falling for Penelope Park. That’s not — it's not what either of them wants.</p><p>So, instead, she gathers her things and presses a kiss to the corner of Penelope’s mouth, and tries to remember who she’s supposed to be, what she's supposed to feel as she heads inside and back to her life.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She shouldn’t be surprised when the morning of her gallery show approaches with all of the speed of a freight train. She’s ready. More ready than she has ever been and spends most of the morning following the movers around her house, watching them grab piece after piece to cover and place into the van. She meets them over at the gallery and helps to direct the installation. The gallery owner had only requested eight pieces but she brings ten and his face lights up.  </p><p>She’s buzzing with something — excitement, nerves, anxiety. It’s probably the lack of sleep. It can’t be the way that these pieces have taken something from her, have given something to her. It’s more than the late nights and sleepless days and hours and hours spent crouching and standing and pacing in her studio. This experience — these works have changed her. The act of birthing an idea and a vision, putting it to canvas from her arm and hand and with the paintbrush — an extension of herself has caused an irrevocable shift in everything. </p><p>She refuses to call it anything, to give it words. It’s not yet meant for her to verbalize, even if it’s written in every brushstroke and shown in every line. Pictures and brushstrokes have always been clearer for her than anything else. </p><p>At lunchtime, she calls Penelope and they meet in a parking lot and it’s definitely less romantic than Hope had imagined, but Penelope’s hands are on her instantly. </p><p>“Bad day at work?” </p><p>“Shut up, Hope,” Penelope exhales along her throat. Hope takes that as a yes, if Penelope’s teeth digging into the column of her neck are anything to go by.  </p><p>Penelope whispers that she can’t wait for the show and Hope feels her stomach swoop, feels the desire coiling low within her. Because she’s excited about this. About the show, about showing it to Penelope and yes, even Landon and Lizzie and Jade and everyone else, who had received their invitations the week before. </p><p>Not that they’ll — Penelope will understand anyway, Hope thinks, letting her head fall back as Penelope’s mouth moves lower. She’s always had a way of comprehending Hope. Of understanding her where words fail.  </p><p>Hope doesn’t linger when they’re done and Penelope kisses her soundly before she pulls on the door handle, nearly stumbling from the car, which earns a snort from the witch. Hope flips her off and Penelope blows her a kiss before she drives away. </p><p>Landon comes over before the show, a bouquet of roses in his hands. Hope greets him at the door, fresh out of the shower and he ducks his head in embarrassment. He’s definitely remembering the first time he brought her flowers that ended up on fire from a rogue fireball that may or may not have been sent on purpose by Lizzie. Nerves are radiating off of him and Hope knows she’s to blame. She’s been punishing him for months now, ever since that night at Lizzie’s for dinner and probably before then. Because he’s safe, because he’s normal, because he isn’t Penelope. Because what she’s chosen and what she might, possibly, want are not the same thing. But that’s her cross to carry, not Landon’s. She resolves to be better — if not for him, than for herself. Because he deserves — well, he deserves better than her, if she’s being honest. </p><p>“Gimme ten more minutes. Fifteen tops,” she smiles at him, taking a bottle of wine off of the counter and leaving it on the island in the kitchen with two wine glasses. </p><p>Landon has the wine poured by the time Hope appears in the kitchen, a red dress with a v-neck and plunging back fitting her like a glove. She added a few more curls to her hair and as she stands in front of Landon, the smile that overtakes his face is good. It’s nice. It doesn’t make her weak in the knees or anything, but it’s nice. </p><p>“You look — wow,” he laughs, handing her a wine glass. </p><p>“Thank you,” she says quietly, accepting the compliment.  Landon raises his glass then, inhaling deeply. </p><p>“To you and to tonight. Congratulations, babe.” The word from his lips leaves her with an odd feeling, but she pushes it down. </p><p>“So many things could still go wrong,” she admits but he shakes his head. The eternal optimist. </p><p>“Tonight’s going to be perfect. You ready?” </p><p>He offers his arm as they walk to his car, opening the door for Hope before kissing her cheek, keeping away from her lips, where she had just applied lipstick. Landon parks and grabs her hand as they walk into the gallery, soft music playing over the din of chatter. </p><p>As soon as they get there, Hope’s surrounded by swaths of people asking her questions. She answers them quickly, almost second nature by now. Maybe, while she drinks her first glass of champagne, she occasionally looks around for no reason at all.</p><p>Penelope shows up late, because she’s Penelope so, of course, she does, and Hope feels her breath catch in her chest. She looks radiant. The dim lighting in the gallery, meant to evoke a moonless night (according to the gallery owner) brings out the golds and reds in her hair and her eyes shine with mirth when she sees Hope. Hope wants to sink into her embrace, but settles for a kiss to her cheek, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and her perfume, always subtle but so very Penelope. </p><p>Lizzie and Jade join them and they all chat in a large group, champagne flowing and Hope catches herself watching Penelope before she’s pulled away to speak to some donors about her inspiration and vision for the show, something she’s already talked about ten times tonight. It’s nearly thirty minutes later when she’s able to extricate herself from the group of donors, sickeningly wealthy people she knows she needs to keep happy and persuade to buy something, anything, but she feigns needing another drink and a restroom break in hopes of finding Penelope, or at the very least, Landon. </p><p>Hope spots her through the crowd with some woman, laughing at something and she feels the champagne flute in her hand tremble. </p><p>Because it’s almost painful at how beautiful Penelope looks, her magnetic energy drawing Hope in, even in a room filled with people. She has no reason to be — what is she, jealous? It burns low in her stomach watching the exchange between the pair because the other woman's beautiful, dressed in a black sheath and dripping in diamonds. And Hope knows that this is what Penelope does, this is how she is. She makes connections, she talks to people, she gets them to open up. And she’s so utterly captivating.  </p><p>It’s not jealousy — but it definitely is. Jealousy and something else a bit deeper. Because it wasn’t like Penelope was sleeping with other people. She had assured Hope that she wasn’t. And Hope definitely wasn’t sleeping with Landon, nor had she for months. For all intents and purposes, they were exclusive to each other. </p><p>As exclusive as you could get when you’re cheating on your boyfriend. </p><p>Hope touches a hand to her forehead, wanting to run, to go home and paint these feelings out, to work out her mind away from all of these distractions — away from Penelope looking at that woman, away from Landon who was in the corner with Raf, away from all of these people. </p><p>She turns away from where she was sure she was staring at Penelope and approaches the table laden with finger foods and drinks, grabbing another glass of champagne because hers was mysteriously empty all of a sudden, even as her throat burned with — dryness. Certainly not emotion because that fucking interaction was going on forever and that woman had a hand on Penelope’s arm and — </p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to be mingling?” a voice lilts into Hope’s ears and she smells Penelope’s perfume at the same moment she feels a touch at her lower back that sends shivers all the way down to her toes. Penelope’s standing close, far too close, and she has yet to drop her hand and Hope inhales deeply, avoiding her gaze even as she wants to melt into Penelope’s warmth. Hope knew she ran warm but she can feel heat radiating off of Penelope and it only makes her legs shake and her heart beat faster. </p><p>“I’ve never been one to network very well at these things. You — uh, you seemed to have some luck,” Hope chokes out. </p><p>“Tabitha?” Penelope asks, putting a name to the stupidly gorgeous face. Hope can hear an eyebrow raise in the question, even if she avoids Penelope’s eyes.  </p><p>“Sure,” Hope replies, taking a swig of her champagne. </p><p>“She’s cultured, very wealthy, gives to all of the right causes,” Penelope says, listing off all of the delightful things about the woman and then finishing with, “but if I’m being honest, and I rarely am, except when something is important, no one could distract me from you, Hope.” </p><p>Hope catches her eye then and Penelope winks, before her eyes hungrily sweep from Hope’s head to her toes, the hand at her back directing Hope toward a wall covered in her pieces. </p><p>“These really are gorgeous. No doubt the product of a few sleepless nights,” Penelope says, the awe in her voice something that Hope notes with pride as Penelope gazes at her favorite piece. She had left them all untitled. For good reason. Her muse was right next to her.  </p><p>“Come with me,” Hope says, grabbing the hand that had been on her lower back and intertwining their fingers together. With a nod of her head, she directs Penelope down a hallway with a sign marked <em> Authorized personnel only - Exhibit not open to the public. </em>In the sea of people, no one will notice their absence. </p><p>“Breaking even more rules, it seems,” Penelope observes and Hope stays silent, her hands tingling with the champagne, and with Penelope so close and looking like <em>that, </em>that the moment they turn a corner, away from the chatter of the show, Hope grabs her, pushing her against the wall in an alcove, their chests flush. </p><p>Hope had seen this earlier — a wing of the gallery that wasn’t yet open, pieces on the floor and up against the wall. It was an escape, if only just a few feet away from everyone. “Congratulations,” Penelope barely has the chance to say before Hope is leaning into her. Penelope reaches out and grasps at her waist, stroking the curve that she knows is highlighted by the dress. </p><p>“I — I wanted,” Hope begins, but she can barely form the words, shaking her head at herself. She felt an overwhelming surge of <em>want </em>the moment Penelope had walked in — looking radiant in a bright emerald dress, her hair falling in waves around her shoulders. And then Penelope was talking to that woman —Tabitha, and — </p><p>“I just needed a moment, I think — with you,” she admits. “Before we have to go back out there,” she adds. Before she has to pretend for another night.  </p><p>Penelope glances down at her, leaning in and stopping just a touch away from Hope’s mouth, her breath warm as it washes over Hope and she tries to bring their lips together even as Penelope pulls back, her hand a vice grip at her waist. </p><p>“Tease,” Hope breathes, ducking her head against Penelope’s forehead because she needs this with Penelope. She can barely breathe around her but she soaks up every stolen moment with her, storing them for later. She needs to taste Penelope, to kiss her the way she wants to kiss her, to claim her away from all of the eyes, to throw her nerves away for one moment in the arms of the woman that she — </p><p>“Come to dinner after,” Hope whispers along her mouth, hoping the four words can say, well, everything that she can’t. Penelope pulls back again then, her head resting against the wall. </p><p>“And play the eighth wheel? Partner off with Raf as the odd woman out? That’s not — I don’t know, Hope.” Penelope avoids her eyes, her hands shifting at Hope’s hips.  </p><p>“I want you there.” </p><p>“What else is it that you want, Hope Mikaelson?” Penelope’s voice drops an octave and Hope feels herself aching as Penelope’s eyes finally meet hers. “Is it me that you want?” The question makes her heart stutter. </p><p>“Penelope,” Hope says, as Penelope’s hands move over and around Hope’s waist, down her lower back and ass. </p><p>Penelope’s hands move up her waist, dance across her ribs, and come to rest on her neck. She cups Hope’s face in her hands, eyes firmly on Hope’s lips as she traces a fingertip across Hope’s bottom lip, the nail scratching at Hope’s skin that she can feel as it drops down her stomach and lands between her legs. </p><p>“I asked you a question. Do you want me, Hope?” </p><p>Hope moves her hands from where they lay, motionless on Penelope’s waist, grabbing at her lower back to pull her more firmly into her, feeling Penelope’s breath stutter across her mouth. “You know that I do.” </p><p>Something like vulnerability drifts across Penelope’s face then, but she stays silent. She drags her thumb down across Hope’s chin, pulling Hope’s mouth to hers. Hope expects the kiss to be soft and warm, but it’s anything but. </p><p>It’s hard and biting and Hope feels Penelope’s tongue slide against hers and she has no choice but to fist a hand in the material of Penelope’s dress and try and try to pull her more firmly into her. She can feel her hips bucking against Penelope, hands at her ass once again and gripping hard as she moans into the kiss. </p><p>Hope can’t do anything but push Penelope into the wall, sliding her hand between her legs through the massive slit up her thigh, widening Penelope’s stance as much as she can in the skin-tight dress that Penelope has on. Hope feels like she’s on fire as she strokes Penelope’s thigh, just under her dress. </p><p>“Right here?” Penelope asks, disbelief in her voice, and it’s Hope’s turn now to grab at Penelope’s neck with her free hand, holding her still.  </p><p>“Yes,” Hope says, sure of nothing else but herself and Penelope. She tips Penelope’s head back, moving the hand on her jaw to suck at her throat and down the column of her neck, the same line that Penelope had drawn with her tongue and teeth this afternoon. She slides her hands further up Penelope’s thigh, pausing touch at the skin of her thigh, stopping a few inches away from where she wanted to touch most.</p><p>Hope bites her then, not caring that they probably wouldn’t be able to cover it up in the time it took to get back out onto the gallery floor. She needed to claim Penelope, who moans against the bite, arching her back into Hope who bites again on her throat, sucking on the skin. </p><p>Hope groans against the taste, against the feel of Penelope on her, her hand at Penelope’s neck scratching as she bites and soothes with her tongue on the other side. </p><p>She brushes the back of her hand against Penelope’s barely-there thong, hearing a whine come out of Penelope’s throat that causes Hope to move back up to her mouth to contain it with a kiss. </p><p>“Shhhh,” she whispers against parted lips that are panting. Penelope scoffs at her as she grinds into Hope’s hand, knowing the fleeting touches are far worse than not even touching her at all. Hope can feel how wet she is through the lace, stroking at Penelope’s clit. </p><p>“I’ll be quiet,” Penelope says and if Hope didn’t know any better, she would probably call this the closest thing she would ever get to Penelope begging. Moving back down to her neck to suck on the skin she had bitten moments ago, Hope plunges her hand into Penelope’s underwear, whispering, “I love you in this dress.” </p><p>“Fuck, Hope, I want you so badly,” Penelope grinds against Hope again as she strokes her clit with her finger, touching her entrance and pressing inside of her. Penelope moans loudly at that and Hope moves her hand up and over her mouth, pushing two fingers of her other hand as far inside of Penelope as she can before pulling out fully and touching her clit, only to press back in again. </p><p>“Quiet, babe,” she reminds her. Penelope’s back arches off of the wall and she closes her eyes but Hope watches her, watches her as she fucks her, her pace steady and relentless. Hope kisses her neck then, breathing hard and feeling Penelope’s warm breath against her palm, her pants in her ears. She feels her own underwear grow wet. </p><p>Hope straightens up then, standing at her full height, removing her hand to kiss Penelope, still fucking her as hard as she can as Penelope grips at her back, her nails digging into her skin, her legs shaking. </p><p>She swallows Penelope’s whimper when she comes, holding onto her as she breaks apart at the seams, her hips jerking into Hope’s hand before she stills and collapses against the wall. Hope pulls her fingers out then, one hand at Penelope’s waist and the other going into her mouth to lick her fingers clean. </p><p>Penelope pulls her into her then, to kiss her, to taste herself on Hope’s lips and Hope presses her more fully into the wall, feeling Penelope’s heart beating a cacophony against her breast. </p><p>“God,” Penelope sighs when she pulls away from Hope, head hitting the wall. </p><p>She looks utterly gorgeous, her cheeks colored and her lips parted, and just for a second, Hope thinks that she would quite like to paint her. There’s a crash outside and the noise breaks through their little bubble, breaks Hope out of her reverie. </p><p>Penelope exhales slowly before clearing her throat, shoving her dress down. The bite mark on her neck is bright red and Hope looks at it before her eyes meet Penelope’s. “We might want to get back.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Hope manages, the image of Penelope coming undone just seconds ago still occupying all of her thoughts. </p><p>“You go first,” Penelope says, “I think you’ll be missed more than me tonight.”</p><p>Hope presses a quick, forbidden kiss to Penelope’s lips, who grips her face in her hands, before she straightens her dress and walks back towards the gallery, towards the rest of the world. </p><p>“Hey, where did you disappear to?” Landon asks as Hope joins him, his arm immediately going around her waist. </p><p>“I, uh — something with one of the paintings,” she says quickly, running a hand through her hair, the same hand that had been inside of Penelope moments ago. “Problem solved though,” she finishes with a smile. </p><p>Landon nods and turns to look at the painting Penelope was standing in front of before Hope had so selfishly pulled her away, his face screwed up in concentration. It was a canvas of gold and browns, flashes of light and swirls of black and if she was being honest, the painting felt exactly like what being with Penelope felt like. </p><p>Free, weightless, untethered, and yet anchored. </p><p>“I don’t know if I totally get it,” Landon admits, turning to Hope with a grin. She leans into his chest, inhaling his cologne and feeling his heartbeat.  </p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” is all she says.</p><hr/><p>The rest of the show passes in a blur. Hope talks to far too many people, her face and cheeks sore from smiling. She gives a terrible speech, trailing off at moments because as much as this meant to her, her eyes stray often to Penelope watching her in the crowd. </p><p>She stumbles her way through it and talks with even more people, Landon by her side all the while. Penelope disappears and reappears again later, a smirk on her lips that Hope wants to kiss off. </p><p>The night ends, thankfully, and Hope and Landon find the others to follow them over to the restaurant. The text comes through as they arrive at the private room that Penelope had reserved for them in the restaurant for celebratory dinner and drinks — she had sold all ten pieces just before the end of the show to yet another anonymous buyer. </p><p>Elation pours through her veins and in the absence of Penelope, who had departed the gallery with a wink, Hope throws her arms around Landon’s neck and kisses him. He latches on to her in a moment, surprise evident in the way it takes him a beat to move his lips, but he responds eagerly. Hope wills herself to feel in the kiss the way that all of her kisses with Penelope have felt and the comfort is there, sure, but it’s not the same. </p><p>She’s changed, not just from her exhibition, but from Penelope. All over her and all around her. The lie feels suffocating. </p><p>Penelope shows up fashionably late, not that Hope noticed. She strides into the room and heads to the bar and Hope doesn’t miss the way she watches her extricate herself from Landon, his arms around her waist. She swipes across her lips with the back of her hand. She knows she shouldn’t feel guilty — he’s her boyfriend and Penelope's nothing to her and yet she can sense the way Penelope’s eyes follow her. </p><p>“A toast!” Lizzie says once they’re all there — Raf and Kym and M.G. and Lizzie and Jade and herself, Landon and Penelope. Her family, part of it, at the very least, even without Josie around. “To Hope. Who actually might have found some taste in all that time she’s been flinging paint at canvas. Congratulations on tonight!”</p><p>“That’s a terrible toast,” Penelope remarks, but she’s smiling just the same and everyone lifts their glasses to Hope. Landon downs his champagne with a flourish, grabbing the flute from Hope’s hands as she swallows, his hands grasping and holding both of hers.  </p><p>“Hope, I —” he begins, then seems to remember himself as he kneels down, still holding Hope’s hands. He glances up at her from the floor and Lizzie’s gasp breaks through the torrent of sound and static rushing through Hope’s ears. </p><p>No, this isn’t — </p><p>“Landon —” </p><p>“Hope Mikaelson, I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. I’ve loved you every moment since then and I know we’ve had our ups and downs but I think — I think this could be really good for us. It can settle everything. I want to give you the world. I want to make you as happy as you make me and I want us to get back to what we used to have. Will you marry me?” He drops one of her hands to reach into his pocket and her palm is wet against his as he grips her hand. Like a vice. He withdraws a black box with a modest diamond ring settled in the velvet, glancing up at her with so much in his eyes. Hope, love, comfort, security. </p><p>It’s all wrong.  </p><p>Hope swallows deeply, her heart threatening to hammer out of her chest, her mouth dry, and all of her friend’s eyes on her. She feels Penelope’s eyes on her back, burning and acute, before the sensation is gone and Hope whips around, a name on her lips that isn’t Landon’s.  </p><p>Everything collapses, this house of sand she has so precariously built as Penelope flees from the room, eyes shining. </p><p>“Penelope,” Hope whispers. With a final glance back at Landon, at everything she’s tried to keep together, for months, for years, she turns away, following her heart out the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hope doesn’t catch up to her until they’re in the parking garage. Her dress is swirling around her legs as she jogs and Penelope’s practically running in four-inch stilettos. Hope grabs her arm to turn her, to make her listen, to explain everything. </p><p>“Penelope, Penelope! Baby, just —” Hope starts, trying to shove as much care and emotion into the eight letters as they fall from her lips. </p><p>“Don’t call me baby,” Penelope spits at her, finally yielding in Hope’s grip and turning toward her as she nears her car, the word sounding so wrong in her mouth. And not the way that Hope had intended when it had slipped out. “Don’t you <em>dare </em>call me baby now, Hope. Not when you’re about two seconds away from choosing him.” Penelope flings her arm back toward the restaurant, anguish cracking in her voice. “You make me into such a godforsaken mess,” Penelope admits, and Hope can hear the self-loathing in her voice. “This whole thing was just — it was just a fucking lie, wasn’t it? An escape for you because life with Landon is so goddamn suffocating. You were bored, Hope. Admit it.”  </p><p>She can’t, won’t, refuses to admit that. Because she had been bored. And Penelope had made her feel alive and on fire and seen and then it turned into something so much more than that and — she can’t. She can’t go there, she can’t admit anything to Penelope about what she feels and how strongly she feels it. It would — it could break her. She would be armorless, stretched thin, inexplicably open. </p><p>“You came onto me! You started this all! And you called me all the time and you took me to your family’s cabin —” Hope starts to say, but Penelope just stares at her, her mouth open.</p><p>When in doubt, choose destruction. Mutually assured is the safest bet. Collateral damage loves company, just like misery.  </p><p>“You were quite a willing participant, Hope! You have agency. We’re not teenagers anymore! You could have ended it! I gave you an out plenty of times! This isn't just on me and you know it!” </p><p>Penelope takes a step toward her and Hope takes one backward and that seems to have been the wrong choice if the stricken look in Penelope’s face is anything to judge by. “I showed up here because you <em>asked </em>me to, you said you wanted me here, and then he proposed to you, Hope! Landon proposed! And I couldn’t just stand there and watch you make the biggest —”</p><p>Hope gets it. She does. She didn’t miss the way Penelope’s eyes tracked her as she entered the room, watching every moment and rise and fall of her chest as she stepped away from Landon after kissing him. </p><p>But the thing is that Hope can’t — she just can’t destroy what she has with Landon, even if she’s sure she has already. Landon’s safe, comforting, and nothing like the whirlwind of the last six months with Penelope. Landon will never be able to hurt her, break her heart, and leave her in pieces. </p><p>Penelope could.  </p><p>Penelope takes two more steps back, her back hitting her car. Hope notices that her eyes are shining with unshed tears.</p><p>Fault lines run beneath Hope’s skin. She’s fragile, broken, with tectonic plates shifting within her to right the world. To try to make sense of all of this. </p><p>“What is it that you want, Hope? Him? Dragging this corpse of your relationship around with you wherever you go? Pretending you’re happy when you’re gasping for air?” </p><p>“Penelope, I —”</p><p>“Just tell me what you want, Hope!” </p><p>“It’s not that easy!” It is, the answer is staring at her in her face, wrapped in sadness and anger and looking so broken. </p><p>“Of course, it is!” Penelope yells, her voice cracking. “It was easy for you to say it while your hands were all over me. Maybe it's all in the secrets and the sneaking around. Tell me what you want, Hope!” </p><p>“That’s different, Penelope. And you know it. That was just—” Hope gasps a breath, eyes swimming. “I —” </p><p>“That was just sex to you,” Penelope realizes, anger suddenly vanishing, and she nods, sucking in her bottom lip. “So, that’s it then? This was just — it wasn’t anything, was it?” </p><p>“We said at the beginning that it didn’t have to mean anything,” Hope says quietly, even as her own heart is shattering in her chest. Drive the knife deeper, carve your own heart out even as you stab and tear and claw at hers. </p><p>“I know what we said, Hope. And what we did were two completely different things.” Penelope pauses, her voice cracking, sharp like glass. “I thought that — it doesn’t matter what I thought.” Penelope swallows deeply then, eyes on her feet, her keys gripped in white knuckles. “I thought I could —” she glances up, eyes on Hope, who wishes the look didn’t burn right through her skin. “I would have ruined myself for you, a million times.” A whisper. An admission of everything. It burns.</p><p>Penelope lets the words sit in the air between them, in the space that has grown since the alcove in the gallery. Since Landon proposed. </p><p>Hope knows the muscle clenching inside of her chest is involuntary, a reaction to the words. Knows the damage is done and it’s better this way, maybe. </p><p>“Go back inside, Hope. Your fiance will be wondering where you are.” </p><p>Hope finds her voice, but it's only to mumble, “Penelope, plea—” She isn’t sure what she wants to say. </p><p>“Just go, Hope.” </p><p>She turns away without another word and Hope watches her drive off and it’s almost like she’s moving in slow motion. It’s almost like she has a chance to stop Penelope, even if she knows it’s futile. She watches the taillights fade in the darkness, her eyes wet with tears. </p><p>Hope can’t — she can’t just go back inside after everything. She can’t chase after Penelope. She can’t pretend that she’s okay. She can’t face all the truths she’s been running away from, for weeks, or months, or years. Who even knows, anymore. </p><p>She can’t say yes to Landon, either. His question hangs in the air. Penelope’s words mixed with them. </p><p>
  <em> I would have ruined myself for you, a million times.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will you marry me, Hope?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I would have ruined myself for you, a million times.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will you marry me, Hope? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I would have ruined myself for you, a million times.  </em>
</p><p>There’s no place for her here anymore, and she can’t spend her night chasing after a car that’s already disappeared. So, she does what she’s wanted to do since she got dressed for her show. </p><p>She goes home. </p><p>She peels off her dress in her closet, leaving it in a pile on her floor. She methodically removes her makeup, brushes her teeth, and avoids her reflection in the mirror. She wraps herself in a robe that Rebekah had left behind, something blood red and made of the softest silk, and falls asleep on her living room couch with the curtains closed and her phone shut off. </p><p>Maybe, tomorrow, it will have been nothing but a bad dream, and she can return to the illusions she’s created. Maybe, she won’t have to face the wreckage of everything. Maybe, somehow —</p><hr/><p>She wakes up at noon the next day and feels like she’s hungover, despite the lack of alcohol in her system. Her throat feels dry and her head feels heavy. She turns her phone back on and Landon has called dozens of times and left voicemails and Lizzie has threatened to send out the National Guard and Jade tries to talk her girlfriend down in their group text. </p><p>Nothing from Penelope, though. Not that Hope was waiting for her to call. </p><p>After eating a lunch of a banana and a few slices of bread that didn’t look too moldy, Hope paces in her studio, her hand hovering over the green call button, Penelope’s name highlighted. Biting on her thumbnail, Hope nearly tosses her phone away and scoffs at herself. She’s not a coward. She presses Call and it goes straight to voicemail. </p><p>She dials Penelope’s office number and hears it ring once, twice, four times —</p><p>“Park.” </p><p>“Mikaelson,” Hope replies. </p><p>“I’m gonna have to fire my assistant,” Penelope says under her breath and Hope imagines her jaw clenched. “What, Hope?” She can just see her sitting there, lips pressed into a single thin line. </p><p>“I just wanted —” Hope trails off, not even believing she would get this far with Penelope, “how are you?” </p><p>“How <em>am </em> I?” Penelope asks, disbelief in her voice. “I have a very busy day, Hope. Can I help you with anything?” </p><p>The resignation is clear in her voice and she sounds tired, exhausted even. Her voice is biting and it cuts through Hope. It’s no longer laced with the warmth that wrapped around her last night, before everything. She sounds icy like there are layers and layers of armor around her, held firmly in place by Penelope’s iron will. </p><p>“I need to see you,” Hope throws out, clenching her forehead with her fingers because she was flailing, saying whatever she could to get Penelope to listen because she needs to know — “Can I see you?” </p><p>“No, Hope. You can’t see me.” Penelope hangs up at that and Hope crushes her phone in her hand, dropping the pieces of plastic and glass on the floor of her studio before she stomps toward the balcony. </p><p>Mind made up after staring at her fucking overgrown garden that somehow resembled the minefield that was her heart, she dresses for a run, stopping in town for a new phone (she picks up two just in case) before she strides confidently inside the doors of Park Limited. She had never been here before — Penelope’s office. They’d never — they always avoided it. Something about Penelope’s mom, probably. </p><p>A burly security guard with a five o'clock shadow at two p.m. inclines his head as she approaches and she can just see the edge of a painting, yellows and reds swirling, through the massive glass doors to the rows and rows of cubicles and conference rooms that make up Penelope’s company.</p><p>“Name, please,” he says, eyes dancing between Hope and the small television he had perched on his desk that was playing what sounded like a soccer game. </p><p>“Hope. Hope Mikaelson.” </p><p>The guard consults his clipboard before glancing back to the television and swearing loudly. Someone had scored, probably. </p><p>“And you’re here to see?” </p><p>“Penelope. Penelope Park.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Miss Mikaelson. Do you have an appointment?” </p><p>“No, but I just — Can you call Penelope, please?” Hope smiles shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. This kind of social engineering was beneath her, definitely more of a Lizzie move, but she <em>needed </em>to see Penelope. </p><p>“I’ve been threatened with firing if I contact Miss Park regarding visitors. I’m sure you understand, but I can’t let you in without an appointment.” He reaches a hand to his side, casually brushing open his blazer, revealing a gun in a holster.  </p><p>“Can you just let her know I stopped by?” </p><p>“I’ll try to pass along the message, but again, Miss Park doesn’t like to be notified regarding visitors.” Hope groans, turning on her heel. </p><p>She should have known better than showing up here, unannounced, especially after the conversation she just had with Penelope. Penelope has made herself more than clear that she doesn’t want to see Hope. And here she is, running through town like a love-struck teenager without any idea what she would even say. </p><p>She gets back home hours later when the sun is nearly set, and she’s sweaty and tired and knew that an extended run would do nothing to quiet her brain, even as her muscles protested the last ten miles. While the contacts sync over from her old phone to her new one (thank god for the cloud), she showers, throwing Rebekah’s robe back on once she’s dried off, her wet feet leaving damp spots on the floor as she makes her way down the stairs to the kitchen. </p><p>Eating’s out of the question, so she opts for a liquid approach, grabbing a bottle of red wine before she flees up to her studio, slamming the door behind her. The silence is oppressive and she ignores it for as long as she can before she flings the empty wine bottle against the canvas leaning on her wall. It erupts in a sea of reds and greens, glass and wine stains dripping onto the floor. </p><p>It looks messy. Wrecked. Ruined. </p><p>She runs her fingers through the liquid, spreading it over the canvas, mixing in the colors standing next to her, until it looks just as broken as Hope feels. </p><p>The night and next day pass in a blur and Hope isn’t sure if she’s drunk or delirious, but she hasn’t moved from the studio, other than to grab three more bottles of wine and a bag of nuts from the basement. She eats a few of them. That has to count for something. </p><p>She can’t paint, she can’t do anything. Lizzie and Jade check in but she doesn’t respond, even when threats of bodily harm from the siphon start appearing. Lizzie can’t throw a punch to save her life. Hope knows she could take her any day of the week in a fight, even as strung-out as she is right now. </p><p>Landon, at least, has stopped calling. Which is good. Hope’s left enough broken pieces in her wake. </p><p>Because the one person she wants to talk to, the one person she needs to explain everything to doesn’t want to hear it. And Hope — Hope has to be okay with that, right? She has to honor Penelope’s wishes, even if that means breaking her own heart in the process. Not that she even has the words. That’s the worst part. That even if Penelope listened, Hope doesn’t have the words to say — </p><p>Her phone rings, late that night, far too late, and the name on the Caller ID makes her heart skip a beat.</p><p>“Josie,” she breathes.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She’s far too drunk for this conversation, that much is obvious. So, she levitates a chaise lounge from the studio onto the balcony, laying down with her eyes facing the sky.  It was cloudless, but the light pollution was overtaking everything and Hope could only see darkness. Good, at least it matched her mood.  </p><p>“A little birdie told me about the gallery show,” Josie says slowly, as if she was walking on eggshells. </p><p>“I’m going to kill Lizzie.” </p><p>“No, you’re not. She’s concerned. We all are.” Hope can feel it  — Josie’s concern. There was always something so mesmerizing about Josie Saltzman caring about you. Not unlike how it felt to be studied by Penelope, Josie’s concern was palpable. It was special. Hope wasn’t sure she deserved it. Even now. </p><p>“You know, of all people I never thought I would be having this conversation with, you definitely top the list,” Hope says, pinching the bridge of her nose, and she hears Josie’s laugh on the other end of the phone. The other end of the world, really. Josie was somewhere in South America with Caroline looking for children who needed more help than the world had ever reserved for them. It was so like Josie to do that, to take everything that she had experienced and transform it into something for the greater good. Hope wishes sometimes that she could be so altruistic. That she could be that good. </p><p>Mikalesons never really did have a handle on goodness, so perhaps she was just living up to her namesake. Still, she feels the ache in her heart to be better. For herself. For her family. For —  </p><p>“Why? Because she’s my ex? It’s ancient history, Hope.” </p><p>“It’s not — I don’t know what this is, Josie.”</p><p>“It’s enough of something that you walked out on your boyfriend who had <em> just </em> proposed to you to chase after Penelope. And you can’t lie to me about the sleepover, Hope, or the dinners together.” Josie’s smirking into the phone, Hope can tell. </p><p>She’s going to fucking murder Lizzie Saltzman. </p><p>“Do you know the whole thing or should I start at the beginning?” Hope says quickly, closing her eyes as she gets up, walking toward the railing. She clutches her arms around herself, her robe doing absolutely nothing in the unseasonable evening breeze. It was the middle of summer. It shouldn’t be this cold. </p><p>“When did you fall in love with her?” </p><p>“I’m not — it’s not —” Hope’s heart rate picks up speed at Josie’s words and she feels her chest grow tight. </p><p>“If you weren’t in love with her Hope, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” </p><p>“If it weren’t for your meddling sister and her vampire girlfriend, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” </p><p>“Hope.”</p><p>“Fine, I feel <em>something </em>for her,” she admits, cursing herself inwardly. </p><p>She was a walking, talking, living, breathing cosmic joke and still far too drunk for this conversation.</p><p>“She has that effect on people,” Josie sighs, like she was settling into her couch for a long conversation. </p><p>“Yeah, but it doesn't matter. She blew up at me, Jo. It was warranted, but it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen from her before. She lashed out and every little thing, every tiny moment, she brought it up and just threw it back at me. I called her. I went by her office. I—” </p><p>“When have you ever seen her like that before?” </p><p>“I — Never,” Hope admits. “She’s always been so impenetrable. Like nothing affected her. Which is why — the thing with Landon. I wasn’t — I never thought that Penelope actually — ” </p><p>“You idiot,” Josie says and Hope can hear the emotion in it. “Penelope loves fiercely and with all of herself. If she let you see how you affect her, she’s already in so deep. So, let’s start from the beginning — when did you fall in love with her?” </p><p>Hope screws her eyes up tightly, because she knew the answer to Josie’s question in a heartbeat. She’s known for months. “In Lizzie’s bathroom,” she says honestly.</p><p>“Hope, that was forever ago. Landon proposed on Friday.” Josie explains, as if Hope wasn’t present for the last six months of her life. She was gonna murder Lizzie Saltzman. After she fixed things with Penelope.   </p><p>“I know, Jo!” Hope says, frustrated at Josie and herself. “She won’t take my calls. I don’t — I don’t know what to do.” </p><p>“You hurt her, Hope.” </p><p>“I know, I know I did. I just —” </p><p>“You just, what?” </p><p>“She kept on saying we should end it.” </p><p>“You could have. But you didn’t want to, did you? Because despite everything — despite the fact that you were with Landon — which I should be angry at you for because cheating is cheating, you and Penelope make sense, you know?” </p><p>“In what world do we make sense?” </p><p>“You’re moody and emotionally stunted and she cares more about you than she will ever let on. It’s a perfect match. And you love her. That has to count for something.” </p><p>Hope knows this. Down to her core, she knows it. But it’s one thing to know it and another to hear it from Josie. She can’t deny the way that Penelope always seemed to just be there, through the good and bad, way more than Landon ever had been. </p><p>But love? Like actual real love? Love meant losing people. It meant sacrifices and death and so many other bad things. Love with Landon was easy and safe. Being in love with Penelope’s like being in freefall. It’s dangerous, it’s a rush.  </p><p>It’s everything she’s ever wanted. </p><p>And maybe Hope could have been happy with Landon. Before Penelope. Before she knew what it was to burn and to be cared for. To want and to yearn. Before she knew that her heart could skip a beat every time she saw Penelope’s smile and felt her hands, soft and sure, at her waist and all over her body. Before she knew that her muse was her best friend in the world and she couldn’t imagine a life without her. </p><p>They talk about other things for a while. Josie tells her all about life in Santiago — the food, the people, the time lost with Caroline that she was making up for now, how they’re really helping young magical kids, how much she misses Lizzie (even if she swears Hope to secrecy about that little fact). </p><p>“Don’t give up on her,” Josie says as the conversation trails off. Hope needs water. And food. And probably a shower. “And let me know how things are going. Lizzie and I are invested.”</p><p>Hope laughs, even if there are tears in her eyes for no reason whatsoever. “That’s code for betting,” she replies.</p><p>“Maybe. But you deserve to be happy, Hope. You should fight for her.” There’s a beat of silence. “Preferably before Friday.”</p><p>“What happens on Friday?” </p><p>“After Friday, Lizzie wins.”</p><p>“I’m hanging up now, Jo.” She bites down on her lower lip. “Thank you.”</p><p>She considers getting up and fighting for Penelope right then and there, but the world is definitely spinning, and being out of her mind drunk for three days straight's probably not the way to get the girl. So instead, she looks up at the sky and wonders if Penelope would enjoy the view, the stars scattered across the darkness.</p><hr/><p>Sometime in the middle of the night, she moves inside, and when she wakes up the next morning, she feels energized. </p><p>She leaves a letter at Landon’s apartment, saying all of the things she couldn’t say to him but wishes she could. She tells him she loves him, because she does. But she’s not in love with him, and she knew that he needed to go out and find whoever was right for him, even if it couldn’t be her. It’s the coward’s way out, but it might also be the way that hurts him less. The distance between them feels immeasurable, so far that she doesn’t even know when she fell out of love with him, if she ever was truly his, and she doesn’t need to say that to him. </p><p>When she breathes in after leaving his apartment behind, the air feels cold and fresh in her lungs. </p><p>Like she’s free. </p><p>She grabs flowers from the florist because years of watching terrible rom coms with Penelope have taught her that she should always come armed with a well-picked bouquet. Returning home to shower and eat a meal that amounts to more than just nuts and bread, she dresses in a pair of dark jeans, a burgundy tank, and a leather jacket. </p><p>As she strides into Park Limited, the security guard looks as if he’s going to stop her, so she mutters “<em>I</em><em>caeus</em>” with her free hand outstretched. He slams into the wall behind his desk, but with a touch to his neck, he’s still alive and would no doubt wake with a killer headache. Oops. </p><p>This is definitely more efficient than the last time she did this. </p><p>Shoving upon the glass doors, Hope strides in with as much confidence as she can, but falters, nearly dropping the flowers. Because everywhere — all along the walls in the massive hallway and leading toward an office at the back that she knows belongs to Penelope — is her art. </p><p>Every single piece that she had ever put up for sale, hung with care and in frames that must have cost even more than whatever her selling price had been — everything’s here. All of the emotions that she had spilled on the canvas, everything that she had bottled up and brought out only in her work, was all presented in front of her in startling color.  </p><p>She’s never been the kind of person who tracks her works. She draws, she paints, she lets go. She’s never seen anything like this, all of her art in one place, from the first drawings she ever sold to the ones she painted only a few months ago, all collected. </p><p>She nearly loses her breath, her head rushing and her eyes patchy with darkness at the edges but she's a woman on a mission. So, Hope straightens her back, walking to Penelope’s office and nearly blasting the door off the hinges before she bites back a sob. She told herself she wouldn't cry. Not yet, at least.  </p><p>“I thought I said no visitors,” Penelope barks out, not looking away from her computer screen. </p><p>Hope has a number of things she’d planned on saying. She even wrote it down before crumbling the paper in her hand and lighting it on fire. <em> I have feelings for you. I brought flowers. I’m sorry. </em>She’d been going through options the entire way here. </p><p>Now, all that makes it past her lips is, “You bought my art.”</p><p>Penelope looks up then, a strand of dark hair falling in front of her eyes that Hope aches to push behind her ear. Hope stands with her back to the door, her chest rising and falling as her eyes move away from Penelope to the wall across from her.  Because her favorite piece was behind Penelope’s desk and she couldn’t have known that was the piece that Hope had painted after she had come home from Penelope’s one night. She had been sore and sated and so content that the ball of happiness and warmth that she carried in her chest like a light ember had burst forth and onto the canvas. </p><p>“I’m really going to have to fire my assistant. And the security guard too, apparently.” </p><p>“He might need a sick day. Or three,” Hope says because she doesn’t even know where to start and Penelope is barely looking at her. “Penelope, I —” </p><p>“You’re trespassing —”</p><p>“You bought my art,” Hope says again, louder this time, taking a step toward Penelope, who rises up out of her seat, hands on the top of her massive wooden desk that was immaculate. Hope’s eyes trace her body and she notices the dark circles beneath Penelope’s eyes and the way her lips are chapped underneath her lipstick. She looks gorgeous. She always looks gorgeous. </p><p>“That’s legal,” Penelope says. She’s trying to sound formal, cold. Hope can tell. She hates it. “Unlike breaking and entering, or doing whatever you did to my security guard. Assault, probably.”</p><p>“He’ll be fine,” Hope promises, shaking her head. “Why did you buy my art?”</p><p>“What do you want me to say, Hope? You’re a brilliant artist and your art should be everywhere. I’m <em>really </em>going to have to ask you to leave, though. I have a lot of —” Penelope’s refusing to look at her, her gaze focused a few inches above Hope’s left shoulder and it’s infuriating and totally what she deserves but she needs to — </p><p>“I brought you flowers,” Hope interrupts, thrusting the bouquet forward and Penelope glances at her then and Hope sees a crack in her carefully constructed mask before it slams shut once more. Hope takes a step further into the room, the soles of her boots echoing loudly on the stone floor. Penelope blinks slowly before she looks at Hope, one hand a fist against her desk. Almost as if she’s barely holding herself together. </p><p>That makes two of them. </p><p>“Hope, please just go,” Penelope says and her voice is pleading and there’s a mile of space between Hope and the desk that Penelope stands behind like a shield and Hope can’t bring herself to say — “I don’t even know why you’re here.”</p><p>“I love you, Penelope.” </p><p>“You — what?” Hope feels the air rush out of her chest at her words, surprising even herself, because all that she had ever wanted to tell Penelope during this ill-advised and stupid gesture was that she was wrong, that she knew she had hurt her, but telling Penelope that she loved her was never in the cards. </p><p>She hasn’t said this to anyone in years and she doesn’t know if she ever meant it like this. </p><p>Her grasp on the flowers slips and she hears them tumbling to the ground, but she can’t look anywhere but at Penelope. </p><p>It’s too big, too much, and far too messy, and yet, nothing has ever felt more true.  </p><p>“I love you,” Hope repeats, wringing her hands together. “I’m in love with you. And I didn’t say it to you a few days ago, after everything, but I’m saying it now. Because you deserve to hear it every single day.” Hope stops to take a breath because she’s spiraling but Penelope needs to know every thought she has swirling in her head. </p><p>“I knew after New Orleans, and after that stupid fucking dinner at Lizzie’s house, after you got back from Singapore, and I knew after Landon proposed that I — I would be making the biggest mistake of my life if I didn’t tell you.” </p><p>Hope walks forward then and only the desk separates them and she wants to reach out, but she waits, hoping she isn’t too late. Hoping that she hasn’t lost Penelope for good. Hoping that somehow, someway, maybe, she hasn’t wrecked this beyond repair.</p><p>Mikaelsons have always been so good at breaking things. She wondered if she, if they, could also be good at putting things back together, including themselves. </p><p>“And Landon?” </p><p>“He’s not you,” Hope says simply, letting her gaze trail to the painting in front of her. “How could it be him when you  — you showed me colors that I couldn’t see with anyone else.” </p><p>The seconds tick by in silence. Hope turns once again to look at Penelope, her brow furrowed because she knew she hurt Penelope. She knew it and yet, she felt a blossom of something in her chest the longer that Penelope gazed at her and hadn’t yet moved to throw her out of her office.  </p><p>“Do you mean it?” Penelope asks finally, and it’s as much a statement as it is a question, but Hope feels compelled to confirm it. </p><p>“Which part? The part about the painting or the part where I told you that I loved you?” </p><p>“The last part. Tell me the last part again,” Penelope says, her voice nearly shaking, but she steps out from behind her desk just the same, her strides long and measured as she approaches Hope, who inhales sharply, still such a sucker for the way that the brunette made her feel, especially in close proximity. </p><p>“I love you,” Hope repeats, reaching out to grab Penelope’s hand to pull her towards her. Their bodies collide and it feels like coming home, sharing the same air with Penelope. It’s a rush and it's comfortable and it nearly takes her breath away. </p><p>One hand at Penelope’s waist, she trails a finger down Penelope’s cheek, to her chin, and brushes her thumb across her lower lip, watching Penelope who’s gazing at her with eyes wide. Slowly, ever so slowly, Hope’s other hand lets go of Penelope’s hip and it comes up, cupping Penelope’s face and resting her forehead against Penelope’s.</p><p>The breath that Penelope exhales is shaky and her fingers curl into Hope’s waist, but her eyes are shining and swirling, pupils dancing between Hope’s eyes. </p><p>“It’s about time, Mikaelson,” Penelope says, balling her hands into fists at Hope’s waist, glancing down at them, and then back up. She looks at Hope again, biting her lip and rolling her eyes at herself. Hope feels Penelope’s heart race against her chest. “It’s always been you for me. For years. If we’re doing sweeping declarations and ridiculous sentiment, then I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, Hope Mikaelson. Although I'm glad you finally know. There are only so many paintings I can buy before I run out of wall space,” Penelope sighs then and Hope catches her mouth with her own before Penelope can say anything else because everything about this moment feels perfect and she needs to feel Penelope’s lips against hers before she loses her mind. Penelope makes a tiny noise against Hope’s lips and the touch feels like Hope’s dived into the deep end without taking a proper breath, but she’s falling into Penelope and their lips are moving against each other like that’s exactly what they’re meant to do.  </p><p>"You didn't have to buy my art." Hope whispers against Penelope's mouth and the witch groans.</p><p>"Yes, I did," she says, simply, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "You needed someone to believe in you. I always have. You have the absolute worst timing though,” Penelope says, pulling away from Hope with some difficulty, her pupils blown and her lipstick smudged. She lifts up her left hand that had been around Hope’s neck to glance at her wristwatch. “Because I need to be on a flight in three hours and I haven’t packed.” </p><p>“Cancel it,” Hope says, lightning-fast and with nearly a growl. She grips harder on Penelope’s waist and pulls her in impossibly closer. </p><p>“Come with me,” Penelope says, a smile in her voice and Hope inhales sharply because she can’t just drop everything and leave. Or can she? </p><p>“I don’t even know where you’re going,” she counters, backing Penelope up towards the desk. </p><p>“Cute. But I can’t miss that flight,” Penelope stutters out, even as she widens her stance. Hope pushes her up onto the desk then, hands at Penelope’s thighs to ruck up her skirt, nearly tearing a slit in it to make it easier to get between Penelope’s legs. </p><p>“Come with me to Geneva. We can eat cheese and drink ourselves silly on wine,” Hope runs her hands up and down Penelope’s thighs, listening intently. “We can go to Mont Blanc. You can paint by the lake while I’m securing this deal.” Penelope’s eyes sparkle with something — mischief and love and Hope kisses her again, her lips moving down Penelope’s cheek and to her neck, biting softly before making her way back up to Penelope’s lips, licking into her mouth and swallowing back Penelope’s moan.</p><p>It’s not even a question, not really. The idea of being away from Penelope, of wasting any more time, seems unbearable. </p><p>“Is that a yes?” Penelope laughs, lightly shoving Hope away and licking her own lips.</p><p>“What will I wear?” Hope teases, but she’s smiling, her mind already moving to landscapes and the myriad of colors, to oil paints and charcoals and the new sketchbook she had been dying to use. </p><p>“Nothing, preferably.”  </p><p>“I still want a magnet. And a shirt,” Hope barters and Penelope laughs loudly, shaking her head. The door behind Hope opens and she stills, but Penelope just leans around her to look at the person who had come in, an eyebrow raised. </p><p>“Perfect timing, Jess. Although we will have to talk about how Hope was able to get past you," Penelope winks at Hope, rather poorly before looking back at her assistant. "Can you book me a first-class ticket for Miss Mikaelson? In the seat next to me, if you can? Her information is on the drive.” </p><p>“Of course, boss,” Jess says before Hope hears the door close once again. </p><p>“Boss, huh?” Hope smirks, fingertips dancing over the skin she had exposed on Penelope’s thighs. "And how do you have my information saved on your computer?"</p><p>“Don’t you dare think you can get away with calling me that in bed, Hope.” Penelope ignores the second question, jumping down from her desk and landing gently despite her heels. “Go. Pack. No girlfriend of mine is going on a week-long trip to Europe with just a tank top and leather jacket. Even if you do look sexy as hell in that jacket.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m your girlfriend now?” </p><p>“That’s your takeaway from all of this? Get out of my office, Hope!” Penelope lifts her hand and points to the door and Hope walks back to the flowers that she unceremoniously dropped on the floor in the midst of her revelation. </p><p>“I’ll see you in an hour?” she asks, placing a lingering kiss on Penelope’s cheek. The witch smiles into it and Hope’s already so gone for her. </p><p>“I’ll come and get you myself. Well, the driver will come to get you, but I’ll be there.” </p><p>“That’s all that matters,” Hope says, and deposits the flowers on Penelope’s desk before turning on her heel and walking out of the office, feeling Penelope’s eyes firmly on her ass the entire way.</p>
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